What Might Be Done
by loupgarou1750
Summary: In which our Hero, Severus Snape, realises that some day he will need a hero of his own. He chooses Harry Potter. Harry isn't sure what Snape's up to. AKA Snape pursues Harry for a very long time. A little humour, a little romance, a little angst. WI
1. Get Drunk Today

**What Might Be Done**

_What might be done if men were wise—— _

_What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, _

_Would they unite in love and right, _

_And cease their scorn of one another?_

Charles Mackay: _What Might Be Done_

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 1: Get Drunk Today**

In which our hero gets drunk and gets bad news.

_If you have wine today, get drunk today; worry about tomorrow's worries tomorrow (Chinese proverb)_

** > > > > >**_  
_

On the evening of his 37th birthday, Severus Snape sat thinking in his favourite armchair He had a drink close to hand, his seventh actually. He had no idea what it was, it didn't really matter at this point. It was wet. It was basically golden in colour. It burned slightly going down. Just what the medi-witch ordered. Yes, well, just what the nurse -- meddling old bizom -- ordered him not to do. Not that he would ever deign to take her advice anyway. Really, the old witch... Snape pulled himself rather blearily back to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand. What was the matter at hand? Snape gave an interrogative look at the glass curled comfortably in his fingers as if the answer could be found there. He took a sip. What was this shite, anyway? He tried to remember where he had put the bottle. Perhaps the label would provide some clue. He gazed rather absently around the room until his eyes were caught by something glittering on the hearth. Glass. Green glass. Ah yes. That's where he had put the bottle. He hadn't intended to drop it on the hearth. He had been attempting to place it carefully on the mantel, when he was startled by the brusque voice of Madame Pomfrey -- the aforementioned meddling old bizom -- the one who had instructed him to abstain from alcohol for at least 48 hours after his release from the infirmary. After his two-week stay in the infirmary, during which time he had had quite enough, thank you very much, of the old bat.

Oh! The matter at hand. According to Madame Pomfrey, Albus was in the infirmary. Quite ill, not sure if he would make it through the night, very old by anybody's standards, the war was taking a lot out of him, we're really all quite worried. Severus snorted. Albus Dumbledore would live forever. The mad twinkly bastard was probably at that very moment, lying comfortably in his hospital bed, eating a chocolate frog and hatching some plot that involved magically drawing a bulls-eye on Snape's back.

Still, it did give one pause. Snape paused and looked at his glass. Empty. Completely unsatisfactory. He stood and staggered over to the cupboard where he kept his liquor. There must be something else. Something vaguely golden. Something that would completely burn out his train of thought. Something that would obliterate the knowledge that Albus was old and infirm and quite possibly going to die, regardless of how impossible that seemed. Green. Green. Red. Green. How had he managed to acquire so many bottles of Creme de Menthe? He despised the stuff. Oh yes. Albus. The man would insist that everybody needed something sweet in their life, even Severus. Mad bastard.

Shit! Albus. Infirmary. Ill. Possibly dying. What was Snape going to do? Get a drink. That was it. Green. Green. Red. Green. How had he managed to acquire...? Right. Albus. Mad. Infirmary. Bulls-eye.

"Creme de Menthe is vile stuff," Snape carefully announced to the empty room. Nobody responded. Right then. We're agreed. For forty years -- no, that wasn't right -- twenty years. Well, eighteen actually, but that wasn't the point. The point was... Albus. Ill. Target. Fuck. If Albus died who was going to take care of Severus?

The wizarding world didn't much care for Death Eaters, ex or otherwise. Stupid prejudice, really. So we gathered together in silly robes and masks and killed people. We were young. We were foolish. Spring was in the air. Where is my drink? Snape bent over and peered in the cupboard. Green. Red. He snorted. Red as the Dark Lord's eyes. Perhaps I'll have some of that. A toast. To Lord Voldemort, another dead old queen. Snape had a momentary image of Albus joining the Dark Lord in heaven, or wherever they sent mad wizards when they died, dressed to the nines in purple robes with pink and green patterned flowers, and comparing notes on how best to manipulate Potions masters.

Fuck. Albus. Dying. Matter at hand. Snape dropped the bottle of red stuff, which shattered on impact with the ancient Persian carpet and the stone floor beneath. He steadfastly ignored the spreading red stain saturating the priceless heirloom. Well, it wasn't his, was it? Belonged to the school, or maybe Albus himself. Never mind that Snape had lusted after it the moment he first laid eyes on it and had practically begged Albus to let him have it. Served the old sod right. No business leaving something that should be hanging in a museum to moulder in a dank dungeon. Really, you'd think the barmy old codger would take better care of things he owned. Things like his own personal Snape. And now, now the old fart was planning on dying. The nerve. Snape wouldn't stand for it.

Snape staggered over to the fireplace and reached for the jar of Floo powder. He took a handful and dropped the can. Shit! Another mess. The house-elves were going to be a bit peevish in the morning. Peevish. Excellent. He'd just blame it on Peeves. Clearly there was an answer to every problem if one only applied rational thought to it. Snape looked at his handful of Floo powder. What...? Albus. Infirmary. Right. He threw the handful of powder into the fireplace and shouted, "Infirmary!" The fire flared and blazed green but nothing happened. Snape was still in his quarters. He looked blankly around his rooms, momentarily confused. Ah, yes, one has to step into the fire and damn it all, the rest of the Floo powder was a black streak across the hearth. He could just speak to Albus later about... whatever it was. Snape had more important things to think about, to wit; the matter at hand. What was the matter at hand?

Perhaps it was time to sober up.

TBC


	2. Loose Wandering Fire

**Chapter 2: Loose Wandering Fire**

In which our hero meets with a mad old man who sets the waves crashing.

_An old man with his feet before the fire,  
In robes of green, in garments of adieu.  
A man faced with his own immensity  
Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire._

–- Theodore Roethke: _The Far Field_

_  
_>>>>>>>_  
_

Snape walked gingerly across the Persian carpet, only vaguely aware of the dark red stain that marred its glorious surface. The creak of his chamber door opening made him wince, as did the first clack of his boot heel on the stone surface of the dungeon corridor. He briefly debated going back and exchanging his boots for his carpet slippers, which would make much less noise when walking but getting dressed the first time had been an exercise in pain and frustration. Damn Albus and his Creme de Menthe! It would be justice if Snape refused to visit him.

Placing his feet silently and precisely, he walked with measured pace through the hallway and proceeded up the stairway, each cautious step sending a wicked jolt through his head. He grimaced with displeasure when he saw a student ascending the stairway ahead of him. A sound as gentle as a large Chinese gong assaulted his ears.

"Hey, Hannah! Wait!" Ernie Macmillan boomed from somewhere below Snape.

Snape whirled, causing his brain to slosh in his skull. "Ten points from Hufflepuff, Macmillan," Snape growled through clenched teeth.

"What did I...?"

Ernie's shocked question was interrupted by Hannah Abbott's eye-piercing screech, "Hurry up, Ernie. Everybody else has already left for Hogsmeade. We'll miss all the fun."

Snape stupidly whirled again, beetle-black eyes glaring at Abbott. "An additional ten points from Hufflepuff."

"That's twenty points! Professor, we're in _Hufflepuff_." Macmillan protested.

"Ten more points for arguing with a teacher. And another five for wasting my time stating the obvious! Did I not just _say_ Hufflepuff?" Taking 35 points rather than using an Unforgivable seemed more than reasonable to Snape and he congratulated himself on his saintlike forbearance.

The heels of Hannah's shoes clattered abominably as she scurried pell-mell down the staircase to join her compatriot.

"Twenty more points for creating an infernal racket when I have a headache!" Snape screamed and then winced, his head sinking between his shoulder blades, his chin colliding with his collarbone forcing his jaw to snap shut.

"But Professor Snape! Hufflepuff hasn't lost any points all year! We were on our way to a school record!"

Snape wondered how he had ever failed to noticed the similarity between Hannah Abbott's voice and fingernails across a blackboard.

"Apparently," Snape hissed, "you have missed your chance for the record books! Perhaps in future you'll think twice before screeching like banshees. This is a school, you pathetic dolts, not a Weird Sisters' concert. Now begone before I reconsider my generosity!" Although his voice was barely audible there was no mistaking the menace in it.

"But it's Satur –" Macmillan began.

"Ernie, shut up," Hannah whispered frantically, clutching at his sleeve and dragging her classmate up the stairs. When they reached the top of the staircase, they risked a frightened look back at Snape, who was standing where they had left him, clutching his head.

Not for the first time that morning Snape cursed himself silently for drinking too much; not having Pepper-Up Potion handy; and spilling all his Floo powder. Although perhaps the last was a blessing in disguise; he wasn't sure his stomach could withstand the whirlwind journey from his rooms to the infirmary. Looking around cautiously, he determined there were no more students lurking about. Thank the Lord it was a Hogsmeade weekend.

He thought he owed the saints another round of gratitude when Madame Pomfrey -- with her disgustingly robust voice -- was nowhere in sight. He virtually tiptoed through the empty ward to the private room the Headmaster would be occupying. The worry he had been subconsciously nurturing was somewhat relieved when he saw Albus sitting up in a chair, toasting his wool sock clad feet in front of the fire. The room's other occupant made him want to bolt back to his nice quiet dungeon.

"Severus, you look like death on a crumpet," Minerva McGonagall's voice sliced painfully through Snape's occiput.

"Thank you, Minerva." Snape's voice was weak. "You look charming as usual." He valiantly tried to ignore the multi-coloured floating worms that assaulted his eyes as he looked at the tartan scarf entwined around her neck.

"A little too much birthday celebration?"

"Minerva, please. Lower your voice just a notch. We are, after all, in the infirmary. I'm sure it doesn't do Albus any good to have you bellowing in his ear."

McGonagall laughed heartily. "Shall I call Poppy, Severus? I'm sure she has some Pepper-Up around here somewhere."

"No, thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine momentarily."

"Many happy returns, Severus." Albus said, his voice quavering slightly. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you my regards earlier. I've been a bit indisposed. Minerva's correct. You do look like hell, my dear boy."

"And you, Albus, look ridiculous." His eyes swept in disgust over the balloon-patterned pyjamas that covered the Headmaster's thin frame.

"Aren't they marvellous? Poppy's latest acquisition. They certainly cheer things up around here. Depressing places, infirmaries."

"Albus, please. You're not well. You shouldn't be talking so loudly."

Dumbledore laughed wheezily. "I was under the impression Poppy had forbidden you to drink, Severus? Really, you should pay more attention. She knows what she's doing."

"She knows how to interfere, you mean."

"Don't be that way. Truly, she only wants what's best for everybody. Are you sure you wouldn't like Minerva to ask her for something for your head?"

Snape snorted derisively.

"Well, suffer if you must. How was your birthday, my friend?"

"I'm sure you two want a nice quiet chat," Minerva said loudly, her eyes gleaming with mischief as Snape winced again. "I'll just leave you alone, shall I?" She stood and thumped Severus on the back. "Many happy returns, Severus. Come see me when you have a moment. I've got an unopened bottle of that Muggle whisky you're so fond of."

Snape's stomach roiled and he cautiously shook his head.

"Are you sure? No hair of the dog? Very well. Perhaps when you're feeling better."

"Keep it to a dull roar, will you? And thank you, Minerva. At the moment, I'm firmly resolved never to drink again. Should things change, I'll look you up."

"Do that, Severus. I'll look forward to it. Albus, don't let him tire you out. It was a very near thing last night."

"Thank you, my dear." Dumbledore smiled at her fondly. "I promise to sleep like a baby as soon as Severus and I have had a chance to speak. Very kind of you to stand watch."

"I had to make sure the worst was over, didn't I? Good morning, both of you. Albus, I'll check on you this afternoon, shall I?"

"Indeed, Minerva. Another visit would be most welcome, although I hope Poppy will let me return to my chambers. You're welcome to see me there."

"Severus, if you change your mind about the hair of that dog..." She grinned evilly as Snape clutched his head, and then swept magisterially out of the room.

"Damn that woman. She's got a wicked streak to rival a Death Eater."

"Tsk, tsk, Severus. She was merely teasing you. So, come my boy, tell me about the last two weeks. I'm most sorry I was away when you were brought in. What exactly happened?"

"I'm sure Poppy gave you the gruesome details."

"She didn't really have the opportunity to do more than give me a sketch. I'm afraid I was hiding in my rooms, not wanting anybody to know how ill I felt."

"How _are_ you, Albus? Poppy suggested you might be dying."

"I'm old, Severus, and I'm tired, but I'm not _quite_ ready to go yet. I've much to do before I depart this world. We'll have opportunity to talk about that later. Tell me, what happened when Voldemort summoned you?"

Snape angled his chair so he could speak to Dumbledore straight on and ease the pressure on his neck.

"The Dark Lord was in one of his moods."

"Come, Severus, surely it's time for you to learn to say his name?"

"Don't, Albus. My life is hard enough without someday accidentally slipping and addressing him by name."

"Perhaps you're right. I'm sorry. Continue."

"As I was saying, he was in one of his moods. He seems to have regained his full power and he was intent on proving it."

"I suppose it was to be expected. It is rather sooner than I'd hoped. I'm afraid to ask."

"He had a birthday present for me."

"Oh, Severus, no."

"I'm not sure this is the best topic right now, Albus. You're tired and unwell, and it's not a pleasant tale."

"Severus! Good to see you again so soon." Pomfrey gave him a hard look. "I thought I told you not to drink? Severus Snape, you are the most difficult, recalcitrant, stubborn –-"

"Hush, woman! I'm a grown man, not one of your puling students. I will not be spoken to that way."

Pomfrey huffed and turned her attention to Dumbledore. "How are you feeling, Albus? Not being worn out by all these visitors?"

"I'm feeling much better, Poppy. Good enough to leave the infirmary today, I think."

"Hmm. We'll see about that. Don't let Severus tire you out. You need your sleep. It was a very near thing last night."

"So everyone keeps informing me. Poppy, be good enough to fetch Severus some Pepper-Up. He insists he doesn't need it, but I think just this once we should over ride his recalcitrance."

Pomfrey looked Snape up and down appraisingly. "You do look quite the worse for wear. I'll be right back."

"I'm fine. It's just a headache. I'm sure it will pass."

'Yes, eventually. Still, no reason not to feel better sooner rather than later. I don't want you back here as a patient. You're not a good one, you know." She bustled out of the room.

Severus sat back in his chair and glared at Albus without speaking.

"Don't be such a child, Severus. We must talk and it will be easier if you don't have to clutch your head every thirty seconds."

Snape didn't deign to respond but when Pomfrey reappeared with a blue bottle he drank it down, shaking his head irritably as smoke billowed out of his ears.

"Thank you, Poppy," he said grudgingly. "That helped."

"I probably should have let you suffer, Severus Snape. After I told you no drinking --"

"Poppy, please," Albus interrupted gently, "I need some time to speak with Severus. The sooner we finish our conversation, the sooner I can take a nap."

Pomfrey harrumphed. "Very well. Thirty minutes, not a moment longer, Severus. The Headmaster needs his rest. He's very ill."

"Poppy, please," Dumbledore begged.

"Fine, I'll be back in thirty minutes to usher you out if you're not gone already." She looked sternly at Snape and then her demeanour softened. "I'm glad to see you up and around, Severus. You had us all quite worried."

"Thank you, Poppy. I'm fine now. No need to worry further."

Pomfrey swept out of the room and Severus sank back comfortably in his chair.

"Meddlesome old bat."

Dumbledore laughed, still sounding rather wheezy. Snape examined his friend and mentor carefully. It was startling how truly ancient he looked. His flesh, what could be seen of it under bushy eyebrows and flowing beard, was tight against the skull beneath. Dumbledore had none of his usual ruddiness. He looked pale, almost translucent. Snape felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest. Dumbledore was more a father to him than his father had been, and the thought that someday he would be gone made Snape ache.

"You look like hell, Albus."

"So do you," Dumbledore retorted with good humour, "and I, unlike you, haven't had the benefit of Pepper-Up I'm worried about you, my friend."

"Truly, I'm fine, Albus."

"Hmm. Perhaps. Well, where were we? Oh yes, you were telling me about Tom's birthday present."

Snape sighed and resigned himself. It was clear he was not going to be allowed to skate over the topic.

"_Cruciatus_. One for every year of my life."

"Good gracious, Severus!"

"Yes, generous of him, wasn't it?" Snape asked sardonically.

"I'm grateful you survived. Frankly, I'm astounded. The gods are looking out for you."

Snape snorted in disbelief. "Then the gods have peculiar notions of looking out for someone."

"You could be dead. _Cruciatus_ thirty-seven times, you _should_ be dead. Or insane. Needless to say, I'm delighted you're neither. Do you think he suspects? Is that why he did it?"

"I'm afraid to say I don't know what he's thinking. It's very frustrating. I used to be able to read him better. Now, I can't tell at all. I _believe_ he was just feeling fractious. He's been suffering from headaches lately, it makes him more_irritable_ than usual." Snape smiled thinly.

"How did you get back to Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure, really. I mean to say, I _Disapparated_ but I truly don't know how I managed."

"Some day your strength and perseverance will be legendary. You'll have your own Chocolate Frog card. You should have one already."

Snape laughed bitterly.

"So what happened then, my friend? You walked from the gate to the infirmary, after all that?"

Snape laughed again, this time actually sounding amused. "I collapsed where I landed, much too weak to get up and walk. Hagrid found me."

"Dear Rubeus."

"Mmm. Yes. Dear Rubeus found me eight hours and fifty-two minutes after I arrived. It had snowed that night. I was unconscious. Quite frigid, apparently. I don't remember this part, obviously. Hagrid filled me in while I was in the infirmary. He thought I was dead."

Dumbledore murmured in dismay. "You could have died. And poor Rubeus. He must have been distraught."

"Not knowing what else to do, he picked me up and started to carry me to the infirmary. Apparently, about three minutes into our trek across the grounds, my body had a spasm. Poppy said my nervous system had all but shut down, but apparently there was enough synapse action to cause me to convulse in Hagrid's arms." Snape grinned. "Which, I'm sure I would have done if I had known I was _in_ his arms. Being embraced by Hagrid is more akin to a nightmare than a fantasy, if you follow."

Dumbledore smiled. "So he carried you to the infirmary and Poppy took care of everything."

"Well, not quite. When my body convulsed, Hagrid was startled. Remember, he thought I was dead. In his shock, he dropped me."

"Oh no. Poor Severus. After all you'd been through already." Dumbledore looked suspiciously as if he were trying to keep from laughing.

"Yes, well, six feet is not so great a distance when compared to, say, fifty, but in my condition -- well, suffice it to say when I finally made it to the infirmary, I had a broken arm, three broken toes, and a large dent in the back of my head. All that in addition to the Dark Lord's gift. I was quite a mess." Snape smiled wryly.

"I found out later that Poppy hexed Hagrid when she discovered he'd dropped me. He grovelled rather nicely when he came to visit. Very apologetic. As tempting as it was to encourage his obsequiousness, he was so distraught I had to forgive him and remind him that he had, in spite of his oafishness, saved my pitiful life. Now that it's all over, I find it amusing, in an 'isn't-that-just-my-rotten-luck' kind of way."

Snape grinned at Dumbledore who responded with a weak smile of his own.

"You're done with spying, Severus. This last is too much. I won't send you back."

"I have to go back." Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked intently at Albus. "These headaches he's having, I don't know what's causing them, but I think they might finally give us the opportunity we've been looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. Did you know nothing of them? Has the brat managed to avoid sympathetic pain?"

"He's not a brat," Dumbledore scolded, "and no, he's said nothing and he appears to be fine. I know he's unhappy with me, but I think he'd let me know something like this."

"I'd advise you to interrogate those two cretins, his limpet-like friends. I'm sure they'll know if anything's amiss with the wonder boy."

"I will speak to them. Now tell me, why do you think this will give us an opportunity?"

"He's asked me to make him a potion. I've tried all the usual remedies on him, and they've had no effect. Lately, I've been trying to craft him something custom. So far, without results, but it occurs to me that I might be able to create something that will cure his headaches but perhaps weaken his powers, or his concentration, or something to that effect. I don't have the details worked out. It's an interesting little problem."

"Severus, please. It sounds very interesting, but I won't sacrifice you needlessly!"

"Yes, you will, Albus. You'll have to. Me and the boy and anyone else. Nothing matters except defeating him."

"I don't think I'll live to see it."

"Albus, don't, please. Without you we can't defeat him. Without you, there's no hope."

"Dear friend." A tear trickled down Dumbledore's cheek and caught, a shimmering diamond, in his beard. "There's always hope, Severus. I'd hoped you would have learned that by now."

"Without you there _is_ no hope," Snape reiterated , swiping his hand angrily at the tear that threatened to spill out from the corner of his eye.

Dumbledore stretched his hand out and captured Snape's, gripping it feebly. "I'm very old, even for a wizard. My time is approaching. You have to accept it, Severus. You have to accept it and move on."

"No," Snape whispered. "You can't die, Albus. We need you." He took a deep breath and looked into Dumbledore's blue eyes. "_I_ need you."

Snape seemed to crumple and pressed his head against Dumbledore's thin chest as unpracticed sobs shuddered through his body. Dumbledore gently stroked the greasy hair.

"Don't, Severus. Don't cry, my boy." He continued to stroke Snape's head until the grief that wracked the younger man's body finally seemed spent.

Snape looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Coming back to himself, he flushed in embarrassment at his unseemly display. "I'm sorry, Albus. I'm acting like a child."

"You are like a child sometimes. My child. My son. If I'd had my own child, Severus, I couldn't have done better than for him to be just like you."

Snape tried to sneer. "Don't be ridiculous, old man. I'm a Death Eater and a miserable sod to boot."

"You're a brave and troubled man. I'm proud of you, dear boy, very proud."

Snape's smile was wintry and clearly disbelieving.

"We have to discuss what happens after I'm gone."

"Why?"

"Severus," Dumbledore admonished him.

"After you die, the world goes on. The boy tries to defeat the Dark Lord. Either he wins or he dies."

"He will win, I truly believe that. But that's not what I'm speaking of. Not the war, not Tom, not Harry, but you. Let's speak of you."

"What is there to say?"

"You know as well as I do," Dumbledore snorted softly, "-- that's hubris, probably my greatest failing among many -- what I mean to say is you know _better_ than I how our world sees you. They're mistaken, of course, but I've spent many years as your protector. I can't stop looking out for you just because I'm dying."

"Then don't die," Snape said simply.

"Win or lose this war, when I'm gone you'll need someone to watch out for you."

"I can take care of myself."

"You are very capable, Severus, but even you cannot stand alone against the entire wizarding world. There are many who never believed you turned against Voldemort."

Snape bit back the urge to say, "Duh." Dumbledore smiled as if he knew what was going through Severus's mind.

"I'm stating the obvious. Comes from being a sick old man, I suppose. You need to ally yourself with someone powerful enough to withstand Moody, other aurors, the Ministry. Someone who will protect you and care for you as I have. Perhaps even someone to love you, if you'll allow that."

"Who could love me, old man? I'm hardly a prize."

"You underrate yourself. And I for one, love you."

"Ah. I thought you were speaking of something else."

"I was."

"Then I repeat, who could love me? Who could love a bitter, ugly traitor?"

"You're not a traitor. You're bitter, it's true."

"Don't forget ugly."

"I shouldn't distinguish that with a response. You have grace, power, intelligence, wit. I think the only thing that prevents others from getting close to you is your resemblance to a porcupine."

Snape's retort, if he had one, was stopped by the entrance of Madame Pomfrey.

"Thirty minutes, gentlemen. Time's up! My patient needs his rest." She moved briskly around Dumbledore's bed, smoothing blankets and fluffing his pillows. "And you should be resting as well, Severus. You haven't even been out and about for 48 hours yourself. Don't want to see you land back in here due to over exertion."

Snape stood up and gently touched Dumbledore's shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Albus. Get well. You're needed."

"Think about what I said," Dumbledore replied weakly, already sinking down into the freshly fluffed pillows, eyes closing.

TBC


	3. Bastard of Venus

**Chapter 3: Bastard of Venus**  
In which our hero is propositioned by the Head of Gryffindor House and makes a decision.

_That same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes_  
Wm. Shakespeare: _As You Like It_

_>>>>>>>>>>_

Snape rested his forearm against Minerva's doorjamb and leaned in casually.

"I should probably have my head examined, but I've come for that drink."

McGonagall laughed and gestured Snape into her sitting room. "Neat?"

"Of course."

"Yes, there's no point in watering it down, is there? Take a seat, Severus, you're hovering. Can I offer you something else in addition? Are you hungry?"

Snape's already sallow complexion took on a decidedly greenish hue. "No, thank you. I'm not up to eating just yet. Perhaps a bit later."

"Can't eat but alcohol is no problem." McGonagall peered primly at Snape. "You still look like hell."

"Thank you."

"Have you been crying?"

"Anyone with sensitivity would ignore my red-rimmed eyes."

"What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" Snape's voice started to take on an hysterical tone. "Today I spent thirty minutes with a dying old man. What do you think is the matter, you ridiculous bint?"

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, Severus. I love him too."

Snape jerked his head in an abrupt nod and sank onto the settee, cradling his head in his hands.

"What are we going to do, Minerva?"

"There's nothing we can do, except pray."

"He says I'm not to go back."

"Thank God." Minerva sounded genuinely relieved.

"I have to, of course."

"Severus, why?"

Snape told her about Voldemort's headaches and the potion he was trying to develop. "If I could just concentrate!"

"You're only just out of the infirmary. Give yourself some latitude. These things take time."

"Spare me. Time is the one thing we're fresh out of." He added, "and hope," under his breath.

"Why do you say that? What's happening?"

"Are you daft? Albus is dying, that's what's happening. Get a grip on yourself, old woman."

McGonagall peered irritably over her spectacles. "I've got a very good grip. Apparently the same cannot be said for you. I _know_ he's dying. What I don't know is why you're so frantic about time all of a sudden."

"If Albus dies before the Dark Lord . . ."

"Nothing about the prophecy will change. Harry will still have to defeat him. He won't be alone. The Order . . ."

"Damn the Order! We're nothing without Albus! Nothing!"

Minerva picked up Snape's glass of whisky and thrust it into his hands. "Drink up, Severus. We've a whole bottle to get through."

Snape downed his drink in one long swallow and held his glass out for more. McGonagall poured him three fingers, which he downed as rapidly as before.

"We may need another bottle. This one seems to be going down rather rapidly," McGonagall observed.

"Shut up and drink. If I'm going to get drunk, I want company."

"By all means." Minerva downed her first drink in the same manner Snape had, and, pouring herself a second, downed it just as rapidly.

Snape laughed. "You're a good friend, Minnie."

McGonagall snorted. "I'd hate to waste the bottle breaking it over your head, but don't think I won't, young man. My name is Minerva. _You_ may call me Professor McGonagall."

Snape laughed again and held out his empty glass. "More please, Professor."

"I can see it's going to be a long night."

"Your eyes are starting to look like two cherries in a bowl of milk."

Snape momentarily went cross-eyed, as if trying to see for himself. "Well, at least mine are open. Yours are slitted like a cat's." He sighed.

"Spit it out, Severus. Something's churning inside you."

Snape took a deep breath. "Albus thinks I need to ally myself with someone when he's gone. Someone to protect me from the Ministry and everyone else. He thinks Potter should be my choice."

Minerva laughed. "My, my. Isn't that convenient."

"Shut it, you old bat."

"Cat, Severus. If anyone here is a bat, it's you. The fourth years still take great pleasure in telling the first years that you are a vampire, and it still takes students three or four years to figure out the truth."

"The students get more pathetic and idiotic every year."

"You get more demanding and surly every year."

Snape snorted and didn't argue her point.

"Did he actually _say_ it should be Potter?" Minerva asked.

"When did he ever come right out and say anything? That man defines wheels within wheels. No, he didn't specifically say Potter, but I know what he was thinking."

"It does make sense, after Albus he will be the most powerful wizard in the world. And, he'd suit you."

"If you're going to insult me, I'm leaving."

"He's a lovely boy. I know he's a bit headstrong and thoughtless . . ."

"I never knew you had such a gift for understatement. The boy's a menace."

"And I know you and James didn't exactly get along."

"I may just have to kill you."

"But you, well _liked_ is probably too strong a word, but you didn't exactly mind Lily."

"I realise Unforgiveables are illegal but a lifetime residence in Azkaban just might be worth your death."

"Do be quiet, Severus. Why _not_ Harry? I know you can't admit it, but you're as fond of the boy as the rest of us."

"I most certainly am not. I can't abide the boy, nor he me. It's ridiculous. I'll just have to think of somebody else. Unfortunately, even I have to admit it would be best if it were somebody close to Potter. I could share the umbrella, if you follow."

They lapsed into silence, content to be still and sip their drinks for a moment. Snape was mildly surprised to hear the soft _tic tic_ of a Muggle clock. The fire popped and spit as flames licked at huge logs.

"Severus, I . . ." Minerva paused and unaccountably her cheeks flared pink. "That is to say, I, well, I've, I'm, oh blast! I'm a powerful witch. You could do worse."

Snape paled; a nearly invisible change. "Minerva! Please. Don't. Thank you. It wouldn't work."

"Why not. I'm Potter's Head of House. He may not exactly think of me as a friend, but - "

"It would be like sleeping with my moth- sister. I've no desire to add even _pseudo_-incest to my catalogue of sins."

"Like sleeping with your mother?"

Snape cursed silently as the rim of Minerva's eye took on a suspicious sheen. "Don't get maudlin." Suddenly, he spluttered with laughter, "You really are as daft as he is. How can anyone get teary-eyed over the idea of me sleeping with my mother?"

"It's not that, dear." Minerva wiped her eye on a dainty scrap of the clan tartan. "It's just, do you really think of me as your mother?"

"Minerva.

"Minerva.

"MINERVA. Stop it!

"Yes, I am fond of you." Snape smiled wanly. "And I am fond of Albus. But," his famous glare was suddenly out in full force, "I am _not_ fond of Potter. I loathed his father. I disliked his mother. I loathe him. He loathes me. It's fabulous. It suits us very well."

"Fine, have it your way. We won't talk about it, but don't think I'm going to forget you have motherly feelings towards me, er, sonly feelings. Damn it, you know what I mean. So, if not Potter, then who?"

Snape groaned. "Good Lord, I don't know. I only know it can't be Potter. He's reckless, impudent, arrogant, spoiled, annoying, infuriating, ridiculous, and stupid. He's out of the question."

"Potter is beloved by all, excepting yourself, Voldemort -- stop wincing, man -- the Death Eaters, Slytherins and Cornelius Fudge. Oh Severus, you are clearly on the wrong side of things. How did you ever manage to have something in common with that blazing idiot, Fudge?" Minerva asked tartly.

Snape glared and crossed his legs.

"Well, let's list Potter's friends then, shall we? Ron?" McGonagall asked.

"Oh Merlin." Once again, Snape's face was hidden in his hands and he groaned loudly. "Weasley Number Six."

Snape paused to consider that for a moment. Weasley Number Six had grown tall, strong, and attractive. There were worse thoughts than associating with him, except of course that, "He's just like Potter. Reckless, impudent, arrogant, annoying, infuriating, truculent, stupid. With the added disadvantage of being a Weasley."

"Severus!" McGonagall was shocked.

"Aligning myself with Weasley Number Six would mean aligning myself with the whole Weasley clan. Snape shuddered again. "What a repugnant thought. No, Number Six is out. Which means that Numbers one, two, fourandfive are out as well, because each of them comes with a shrieking Molly and a Muggle-loving Arthur in the background."

"It's a shame, really," Minerva said. "The Weasley boys are an unusually attractive lot and Potter certainly loves them as if they were his own brothers."

"Well, I won't dismiss them entirely but, with Molly and Arthur added in, they definitely aren't on my first tier of possible choices."

"Good Lord, and they say women are catty."

"Name another of Potter's friends. Only don't say Granger. Not just yet. I'm not drunk enough for that."

Minerva giggled and then tried to look stern. "Lupin then. He's the boy's de facto godfather now that Sirius is gone."

Snape groaned again, louder than he had the last time. "It might have escaped your notice, you drunken old . . . cat, but Lupin is a werewolf. Werewolves frighten me, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. All you people who aren't frightened by him are insane. The night Black returned, Lupin forgot to drink the wolfsbane. He forgot. To drink it. He forgot. He's a menace."

"You're ridiculous. Lupin's a menace. Harry's a menace. Molly and Arthur are menaces. Fine. Fine. Who among Potter's friends is not a menace? Gra –"

"_Don't_ say it. Don't. Just don't."

"Well, I don't think the other boys in his year are as close as you're looking for. Members of the Order, then. Moody?"

Turning red from his collar to his hairline, Snape spluttered. "HE'S AN AUROR! That lot's not very fond of me if you'll remember. Not to mention which, his eye is not the only mad thing about him."

"Shacklebolt."

"Oh now _there's_ a lovely thought," Snape leered. "Powerful, good looking, a member of the Ministry. Good looking."

His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "Just not close enough to Potter." His eyes widened and he glared suspiciously at McGonagall. "Hold on! You've stopped drunking, drinking." Snape looked peevish. "You're trying to get me drunk! You're trying to get me drunk and have your wicked way with me!"

Minerva let out what could only be termed a guffaw. "My wicked way? How melodramatic you are, Severus."

"I mean asking me questions. Interrorgating, er interrogating me. Take a drink. Take a drink or I'm leaving. This instant. Now."

McGonagall raised her glass to Snape and then tossed her drink back. Smacking her lips slightly she reached for the bottle and poured them both another.

"Where were we?"

"Shacklebolt, good looking, but alas, not enough of a friend to guarantee the boy's good will would spread to his, ah, mate, partner, consort? Never mind. Nomenclature can be decided upon later, when the deed is actually accomplished."

"I don't doubt you would find it pleasant to bed Shacklebolt but, other than some mind numbing sexual release, it would gain nothing."

"I don't think you can speak of bedding Shacklebolt as nothing other than mind numbing sexual release. I could do with a little mind numbing sexual relief AND NO, THAT IS NOT A PROPOSITION, YOU DIRTY OLD WOMAN."

"You're drunk."

"Yes, I am."

"Shall we continue this some other time?"

"Certainly not. I am perfectly competent to have a competition -- heh, say _that_ three times -- with you."

"Are we competing?"

"Not until you take another drink. _Then_ we're competing."

"Over what?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea. It's not important."

"What's not?"

"Exactly. So, who else?"

"Mundungus Fletcher."

Snape sprayed his drink halfway across the room.

"I thought not. Harry's friends . . . Harry's friend's . . . Longbottom?"

Snape went completely blank.

"Severus." Minerva waved her hand in front of his face. "Severus, snap out of it, man! We won't discuss Longbottom. There's only the women left, unless, Severus? What about Hagrid?"

"Minerva, need I remind you we're not trying to set me up for a date, and if we were," Snape crossed his legs again, "we would most certainly not be setting me up on a DATE WITH HAGRID! And isn't the point to ally myself with a _powerful wizard_, as opposed to a ridiculous half-giant who hides the remains of his wand in his UMBRELLA?"

"You're spitting."

"My apologies."

"Accepted."

"Thank you."

"So, the women then. Severus, I think it's time."

Snape sighed, "I suppose it is. Go ahead. Say it."

"Granger."

A deep shudder wracked Snape's entire body. "NO. I can't do this without another drink." He picked up the bottle. "Damn! We've finished it. What else've you got?"

Minerva rose and, staggering ever so slightly, walked over to her bookcase and removed what appeared to be the _History of the British Empire_ in five volumes. She panted lightly and Snape laughed.

"It's harder than it looks, Bonnie Prince Snape."

"How can you tell?"

Minerva waved her hand dismissively at Snape. "Oh you bad, bad man."

She opened the cover of the top book and peered down. "All I have is Creme de Menthe."

Snape shuddered and held up his glass, shuddering again as McGonagall poured him a good four inches of the foul liqueur. Prior upheavals were as nothing compared to the one that shook him when he took a large swallow of the thick emerald-green sludge.

"God, this stuff is vile."

"Yes it is."

"Why do you have it? What am I thinking? Christmas present from Albus?"

"Yes, I've given it all away except for this bottle."

"I still have all mine, " Snape said disgustedly.

"That's because you have no friends."

"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me. I had quite forgotten. Have I mentioned killing you, lately?"

"The women, Snape. You can't avoid it forever. Granger."

"What about that, oh what is her name? That Chang girl."

"Cho?" Minerva laughed. "You really need to keep up on your inter-house gossip. That didn't work out. Good thing really. She's a bit limp for all she's seeker for Ravenclaw. Harry's better off out of it. Not to mention which, if Harry _were_ still interested in her, you'd hardly endear yourself to him by seducing his girlfriend. "

"Point taken. Tonks?"

"Nymphadora?" McGonagall laughed. "She's entirely too cheerful. You'd use an Unforgivable on her in under a week."

"True. "

"There's Ginny Weasley."

"Affectionately known as "Girl Weasley."

"You're terrible."

"Sad but true."

"Well, what about Ginny?"

Snape looked aghast. "She has all the defects of the aforementioned Weasley Numbers One, Two, Fourandfive, and Six, and has none of their positive attributes - such as a penis."

"Hermione then. There's no one left."

"Granger. Little Miss Know-It-All."

"She's very intelligent, Severus. You have to admit that's a plus."

"Fine. Conceded, but that hair and those teeth!"

"There's nothing wrong with her teeth."

"Oh, that's right, isn't it? That was taken care of two years ago. Funny that escaped my memory. I always think of her as she was at eleven, all-knowing, all hair, all teeth. Can you imagine cuddling up in bed with her?" Snape spat lightly in a pantomime of expelling a strand of hair from his mouth.

Minerva laughed.

"Familiarity," Snape continued, "would likely breed lectures. I have no intention of spending the remainder of my life listening to my wife lecturing me in bed. And don't forget her parents, the Teethists, or whatever they're called. Hideous. Unacceptable. Unimaginable. I won't consider it for a moment longer."

"Take a drink, Severus. You've gone all Oscar Wilde on me."

"There's no hope for it, is there?"

Minerva understood immediately. "I'm afraid not, Severus. It's Harry or nothing."

"Well, why not? If I'm going to attempt the impossible anyway –- making any of these people accept me as a consort, husband, lover, whatever -- I might as well go for broke. Fine. Potter is my first choice."

"I believe that's why you knew what Albus was talking about, even though he didn't say it outright. You're making the right choice."

Snape was reverted to his previous cautious state. "It's all very well to say Potter or nothing but if one looks at the situation reasonably -- and I pride myself on being a reasonable man, current mad scheme not withstanding –- bagging Potter will be difficult. The boy despises me and, for all I know, the idiot might not even be inclined towards men."

Snape sighed. "What a waste that would be."

"So Potter first, and if bagging him proves to be difficult?"

Snape tried unsuccessfully not to shudder. "Granger, second. And a Weasley third. It probably should be Weasley Number Six as he's the closest to Potter."

Sighing deeply, Snape added, "God help me. The thing's decided."

McGonagall smiled wickedly. "Do you know how to flirt, Severus?"

Snape panicked. "Flirt? Don't be daft. I can't start there. Potter loathes me. I loathe him. I'll have to start slowly. See if I can even convince him I'm not a total bastard. This is intolerable. Not only do I have to court Potter, I don't even get my usual recreational pastime of Potter-baiting. I'm doomed!"

Snape stood with difficulty and swayed unsteadily for a moment before speaking. "Professor McGonagall, with your kind leave, I believe I'll spend the night in my own bed, tonight. I trust you won't mind."

"You have no idea how relieved I am. Here," she thrust a small blue bottle into his hands. "You're going to need this in the morning." She raised up and pecked Snape on the cheek. "Good night, Severus. Sweet dreams."

"I know what you're hinting at, you dirty old woman. I am _not_ going to be dreaming of Harry Potter. Get some sleep. You've gone insane."

TBC

Coming up next, **Chapter 4: The New Man**; _In which our hero begins to change his ways._


	4. The New Man

**Chapter 4: The New Man**

In which our hero begins to change his ways

_. . . it is not a question of the Old Man transforming himself into the New, but of the New Man becoming alive to the fact that he is new, that he has been transformed already without his having realized it._

**-- **W. H. Auden: _The Dyer's Hand_

_  
_>>>>>>>>_  
_

"What colour do you call that, Mister Potter?"

"Er, yellow?"

Snape sighed. "That, Potter, is ecru. The potion at this stage should be ochre. Two points from Gryffindor."

He could feel Harry's eyes on his back as he turned and stalked away, ignoring the whispers which he could hear quite clearly, "_Two points? He took two points? He's going soft. He hasn't taken less than ten points a go from Potter for two years._" Snape felt as if his jaw muscles just might pop from the savagery with which he was grinding his teeth.

"Mister Potter," he hissed. "I will see you after class."

As he was ignoring things already, he decided to ignore Harry's groan.

At this stage in the brewing the class could continue without his constant scrutiny. He sat at his desk and picked up his quill. A jumpstart on his grading would make his evening more pleasant. He looked up in time to see a flash of green eyes as Potter quickly looked away from him. Well, he had got the boy's attention. First salvo fired and all that. So why did he feel as if he'd already lost a battle?

Snape continued to watch Potter for a moment. The boy was resolutely attempting to finely dice frog spawn. It was one of Snape's little jokes. Frog spawn was inert in most potions, and it did no harm to add it to this one. Best of all, it was slimy and soft and vaguely round and extremely slippery -- quite impossible to dice. It amazed and amused him that many of the students never figured that out and continued to struggle mightily to produce tiny, even little cubes -- as Potter was attempting to do now. The boy clearly had genius in certain areas -- if capturing a winged ball and landing in potentially terminal trouble could really be counted as genius -- but Potions was most certainly not one of them. Snape felt a grin pulling at his lips and he tightened them repressively.

Still, Potter had good hands. Graceful. Long fingered and nicely tapered. If Hogwarts taught music, he would probably be a natural for the piano. Yes. Very nice hands indeed. Snape found himself wondering what it would be like if those hands...

"MISTER LONGBOTTOM! WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Snape roared.

The entire class flinched in terror, whether of their professor or the possible imminent explosion of Longbottom's cauldron, Snape neither knew, nor cared. Longbottom was frozen, hand in mid-air, ready to drop pickled frog spawn into his potion.

"This, Mister Longbottom," Snape scooped some of the spawn out of Neville's hand and shoved it under his nose, "is _pickled_ frog spawn. What is the thirty-seventh ingredient of this potion?" Snape glared as Neville opened and closed his mouth. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, YOU HOPELESS IMBECILE!"

Harry Potter stood up so abruptly, his stool toppled over with a clatter. "You leave him alone!"

Snape turned and gawked. There was really no other word for it, his eyes popped and his jaw dropped. Students in his immediate vicinity winced when they saw his jaw snap shut and heard the dull clunk of his teeth slamming together.

"Mister Potter," came the too-familiar hiss, "do not presume to tell me -- another _two _points from Gryffindor." Snape ground the words out, bitterness flooding every nerve of his body. "And you will stay after class tomorrow, and the next day, and the DAY AFTER THAT!"

Harry blinked. "It's Friday, sir."

"And what, you arrogant, status-seeking little show-off, does that have to do with anything?"

"Uh, there's no class tomorrow, so I can't exactly stay after, can I?" Harry licked his lips nervously.

Potter. Licked. His. Lips.

Snape shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Mister Potter, I will deal with you later. _Mister _Longbottom," Snape turned back to Neville, once again ignoring the strident whispers of the students, "what is the thirty-seventh ingredient of this potion?"

"Frog spawn?"

"Frog spawn, Mister Longbottom. Simple, ordinary, everyday frog spawn. Not dried frog spawn, not salted frog spawn, not _pickled_ frog spawn. Do you know how frog spawn is pickled, Mister Longbottom?"

"Um, with spices and whatnot?"

Snape could feel his face turning scarlet. The bell rang. Snape almost heaved a sigh of relief. "I expect ten inches," Snape winced, "a foot, I expect a foot of parchment on the proper way to finely dice frog spawn and why it is such a bad idea to add _pickled_ frog spawn to a potion containing Fire Lizard blood. Class dismissed. _Not_ you, Mister Potter."

Snape sank into his chair behind his desk, refusing to look up until the last student had left the room. When he finally raised his head, he simply looked at Harry without saying a word. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

Potter's tongue flicked out and he nervously licked his lips. Snape closed his eyes again and counted to ten. He opened his eyes just in time to see the boy adjust himself, and closed them again.

"Uh, Professor?"

Snape looked balefully at Harry. "Yes, Mister Potter?"

This was ridiculous. Snape took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mister Potter. I'm right here and I haven't forgotten you." Snape stood up and began to pace back and forth behind his desk. "It has, ahh, come to my attention recently, that is to say, I, um, you... I'll be right back, Mister Potter."

Snape turned on his heel and walked out of the classroom. Once out of sight of the open door, he broke into a run. Left, right, right, up the stairs, down the right-hand corridor into his quarters. Seven long paces across the room to the cupboard. Snape grabbed a bottle without looking and took a deep swig. Echh. Creme de Menthe. Fucking Albus. He took another swig and a third before capping the bottle and returning the way he had come.

Potter was standing right where Snape had left him. That was deeply suspicious. Snape cast a glance at his desk, trying to discern if anything had been disturbed, hoping that his subconscious had not let him sketch something damning on the parchments he'd been grading. Well, time enough to worry about that later.

"Mister Potter." Snape stood in front of the boy.

Harry reeled backward and looked at Snape dubiously. Damn. He had intended to grab a handful of anise seed to chew on his way back to the classroom. Oh well. Time enough to worry about that later.

"Mister Potter. Lately, I have found myself . . ." Snape couldn't meet the boy's eyes, nor say what he'd intended. He just couldn't.

Harry waited.

"I wish to propose an alliance."

"An alliance?"

"Must you parrot back to me everything I say?" Snape asked irritably. "And I didn't mean alliance. Armistice. I'd like to propose an armistice."

"An armistice."

"Potter!"

"I'm just a bit stunned, that's all."

"Stunned, Mister Potter?"

"Who's doing the parrot act now?"

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. "An armistice, Mister Potter, between the two of us."

Harry gawked.

"You're gawking, Potter. Close your mouth. It's most unattractive." It wasn't really. It just put Snape in mind of... He wouldn't think about that just yet.

Harry's mouth snapped shut but he continued to eye Snape warily, stepping back a pace for every pace Snape took toward him, until his bum met the back of a table and he could go no further.

Snape smiled and only barely resisted the urge to trail a finger down Potter's chest.

"I'm tired of all this bickering."

"Bickering? You call six years of taunts and torture 'bickering'?"

"Don't be melodramatic, Potter! We have merely disagreed. Frequently."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Professor, are you feeling okay? I know you only recently got out of the infirmary. Should I call Madame P–"

"Oh shut up. I'm fine. I merely wanted to talk."

"You just want to talk, not have me scrubbing out cauldrons, or cutting up boomslang skin, or anything?"

"This is not detention, Potter."

"It's not? Then why am I here?"

"Because," Snape said, his exasperation evident, "I. Want. To. Talk. To. You. Is that so hard to grasp?"

"Well, yeah. It is a bit."

Potter's combined insolence and insouciance betrayed his nervousness even more than fidgeting hands would have done.

"Good Lord," Snape said sotto voce, "when did I begin to 'read' the brat?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I was merely pondering the vagaries of life. You hate me, don't you, Potter? And I don't really know why."

Harry looked at his feet and said nothing.

"Tell me, what's the worst thing I ever did to you?"

Harry looked nonplussed. "You told Hermione you saw no difference..."

"Must I pay for that minor act of not quite mature behaviour for the rest of my life?"

Harry stared at him. "That's the first time I've ever mentioned it. You must have a guilty conscience." He smirked.

Snape scowled. "The question was, what is the worst thing I've ever done to _you_?"

"You scared Neville half..."

"You, Mister Potter. You. Not Miss Granger, Not Mister Longbottom, Not Weasley Number Six. You."

"You think of Ron as Weasley Number Six?"

"You are the most maddening boy on God's green earth. In another fifty years you'll put Albus Dumbledore to shame."

"OK. Fine. I can't think what the worst thing you ever did to me was, except maybe TOTALLY HUMILIATE ME MY VERY FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!"

"You're not still going on about that, are you? For the love of all that's holy, Potter, that was years ago. Let go of it already."

"No. I can't let go of it. You're always harping and snarking at me. I can't set foot in your classroom without losing points. If you think I've no reason to hate you, you're as cracked as Dumbledore already."

Harry flinched as he realised what he was saying and who he was saying it to.

Instead of ripping into him, Snape said mildly, "_Professor _Dumbledore, Harry."

Potter laughed. Snape couldn't completely repress a grin.

"What you said about Hermione fourth year was really rotten, you know?"

"The little, ah, witch, set me on fire!"

"That was first year! She was eleven years old! Years ago. Let it go, already. Beside which, you're supposed to be an adult!"

"Oh yes, well, throw that in my face, why don't you? Wait until you're my age, Potter, and see how much of an adult you feel then! You know nothing about it."

Harry laughed again. "You're no more than fourteen, are you? What'd you do? Take an aging potion?"

"Fine. Yes. I can _occasionally_ be immature. I admit it. Are you happy now?"

"Yes, actually. I feel better than I have in months."

"Impudent wretch."

"Snarky ba --"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Two points from Gryffindor for attempted use of bad language. Detention, tomorrow night."

Harry nodded his head as he slung his book bag over his shoulder. He stalked to the door and then turned around. "You know, Snape. You're all right when you're not being a complete arse."

Snape found himself gawking again as Harry turned and fled down the corridor.

TBC

Coming up next: **Chapter 5: Wave of Revelation**; _In which Harry discovers he is the object_


	5. Wave of Revelation

**Chapter 5: Wave of Revelation**  
In which Harry discovers he is the object

_A melancholy wave of revelation  
Broke over Merlin like a rising sea,  
Long viewed unwillingly and long denied.  
He saw what he had seen, but would not feel,  
Till now the bitterness of what he felt  
Was in his throat, and all the coldness of it  
Was on him and around him like a flood_  
--Edward Arlington Robinson: _Merlin_

_  
>>>>>>>>>  
_

It was long after midnight and the Gryffindor Common Room was empty except for three students, sprawled lazily on the couch.

"He's acting weird." Harry said earnestly.

"He's Snape," Ron responded.

"It doesn't make any sense."

"Harry, it's Snape. When did anything he ever do make any sense?"

"Yeah, but Ron, ten points in two months? Ten points? He used to never take less than ten at a go. In the same period of time last year, I must've lost 100 points, just because of him."

"Perhaps its because we're older and he no longer thinks it's necessary." Hermione sensibly supplied.

"Hermione. It's Snape."

"Oh Ron," Hermione said, "if you can't contribute anything else to the conversation, perhaps you should go to the kitchen and get us some food. I'm starving."

"Just means more work for the poor ickle house elves."

"Don't be a prat. Ask Dobby or Winky. They at least get paid."

"What if they're sleeping?"

"Ron. Food. I want to talk to Harry. Alone."

Ron's eyes widened. "Why? What can't I hear?"

"I can't tell you that, can I? If I did, you'd know. Just go get the food."

Harry winked at Ron. "Don't worry, mate. I'll take good care of her."

"Ach. The hell with the pair of you. I'll be right back and I better not find you two snogging when I return."

Harry made a face, clutched his throat and made a gagging sound, collapsing in laughter when Hermione slapped his arm.

"She's not that bad, Harry. Quite nice once you get used to it. You might want to have her tie her hair back, though." Ron stuck his tongue out several times, acting as if he was trying to expel something from his mouth.

"Honestly. You two. Perhaps I should just go look up Malfoy or Zabini."

"Oh now, there's a good idea. You'll have to pry them apart from each other first."

"You're disgusting."

"Why," Harry asked quietly, "because they're both boys?"

"No, idiot. Because it's Malfoy and Zabini. Oh dear. I think I've managed to make myself ill." Hermione laughed and then glared at Ron. "Are you still here?"

"I'm just going, dear." Ron managed to sound remarkably like his father. Hermione threw a pillow at his retreating back and then collapsed against Harry, giggling madly.

"So why did you want to talk to me alone?"

"Harry," Hermione began slowly, "has it ever occurred to you that Snape might..." She stopped, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Might what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know. I can't read your mind, although I am a wizard of strange and magnificent powers unknown to human kind." Harry managed to say with a straight face.

"Yes, O Great and Terrible Oz, you are, but you're also remarkably dense."

"Oi. What did I do to deserve that?"

"What haven't you done? I think Snape fancies you."

"He does not! Take that back, you evil wench!" Harry hit Hermione with a pillow.

"Think about it, Harry."

"I will not. That's more disgusting than Malfoy and Zabini. Is that what you couldn't say in front of Ron?"

"Well, can you imagine? He'd go ballistic."

"Well, I'm about to go ballistic. Snape does not fancy me. I don't even know why you'd say such a thing."

"We've never seen him with a woman."

"We've never seen him with a man, or a goat for that matter."

"He's being awfully nice to you."

"Hermione!"

"Well, nice for Snape. Come on, Harry. Remember when you yelled at him in class. You _yelled_ at him. He took two points for that."

"Eh, he's just having an off couple of months. He hasn't taken many points from you or Ron either."

"But that's just it, don't you see?"

"No, I don't see."

"Harry, do you know what happens when you mix pickled frog spawn with Fire Lizard blood?"

"No. Should I?"

"It's in chapter twenty-three."

"Hermione. Really, nobody, other than yourself, reads five chapters ahead in their Potions text."

"Well, you should. Snape's always throwing things at us that are a few chapters ahead."

"He is?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, do you ever read your texts?"

Harry put his arm around Hermione's shoulder and squeezed. "No. That's what I've got you for, love."

"Frog spawn," Hermione said, assuming her familiar lecture tone while throwing Harry's arm from her shoulder, "is generally an inert ingredient. Do you know what frog spawn is pickled in?"

"Uh, spices and whatnot?" Harry asked, doing a very credible imitation of Neville.

"Harry."

"You're going to make a spectacular mother some day. You've got the look and tone dead to rights already, though I'd recommend you using all three of my names for added effect. Frog spawn is pickled in vinegar. Vinegar has a volatile reaction with a variety of ingredients. I'm just guessing here, but Fire Lizard blood is probably one of them."

"Oh, you have cracked a book once or twice. Such a good little boy. Adding pickled frog spawn to a potion containing Fire Lizard blood would cause not only an explosion of epic proportions, but would also release a gas that's highly toxic."

"OK. What's your point? Snape was ready to kill Neville, just like you'd expect."

"Yes, you would expect that, wouldn't you? But he didn't even take points."

Harry looked at her in amazement. "You're right. He didn't. But how does that relate to you thinking Snape fancies me?"

"Do you remember last week, when Millicent Bulstrode's potion boiled over?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Snape took five points from her."

"Yeah, well, if it'd been a Gryffindor he would have taken 20."

"But he didn't take any from Neville, and he almost created a toxic cloud in class."

"I still don't see..."

"Harry, Neville's your friend. I'm your friend. Ron's your friend. He's hardly been taking points from any of us, or you. Snape's trying to be nice to you and your friends."

"That's ridiculous. And if Snape does fancy someone, how do you know it's not you, or Ron? Maybe he's not taking points from me because he's trying to be nice to _you."_

"When was the last time Snape insulted you?"

"I... I can't remember."

"He insulted me yesterday. He called me an insufferable know-it-all."

"Oh, that again? Well, you are one."

"I hate you. But that's beside the point. He insulted me, deserved or not. Ron got detention last week. When was the last time Snape gave you detention? Yes, I know he sometimes makes you stay after class, but you said all he ever wants to do is talk. When was the last time he made you scrub a cauldron? It's you, Harry. He's being nice to you and the rest of us, well we're just reaping some of the benefit."

Harry groaned. "I can't talk about this any more. It can't be true. I don't want it to be true. I won't let it be true. Snape. Ugh. My life isn't hard enough?" He gave Hermione a weak grin. "The whole idea is going to put me off my food, and if I lose any weight, I'll lose my girlish figure."

"You do have a girlish figure, don't you?"

"I have to kill you now." Harry wrestled Hermione down onto the sofa and was tickling her when Ron came back, bearing a tray piled high with sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

"Oi! I wasn't even gone for ten minutes. You two couldn't control yourselves that long? You wanted me out so you could have an orgy!"

Hermione sat up, brushing her bushy hair out of her face. "You can't have an orgy with two people, Ron."

"Can you have one with three?" Ron looked as if he was sincerely interested.

"Well, I don't know if three would qualify as an orgy."

"Let me get my kit off and we can find out."

Hermione and Harry both hit him with pillows.

"Here! Don't make me spill pumpkin juice all over everything." Ron set the tray down and flopped on the couch between the other two. "So, what'd I miss? Besides the orgy?"

"Ron, you know Hermione's not my type?" Harry looked concerned.

"Why?" Ron asked indignantly. "What's wrong with her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her; I just don't fancy her equipment."

"She's got very nice equipment."

"Hello. I'm still in the room." Hermione said.

"I'm sure she does have very nice equipment. It's just the wrong equipment."

"You're a poof."

"Got it in one."

"Well, I already knew that, didn't I?"

"You did? How could you know when I only recently realised it myself?"

"Er, um, well..."

"Spit it out."

"FrednGeorgehavebigmouths."

"What?"

"Fred. And. George. Have."

"Oh shut up, I heard you the first time. What do they know about it?"

"Well," Ron leaned forward conspiratorially, "they were spying on you at the Burrow."

"I've never done anything at the Burrow, nor anywhere else for that matter."

"You were talking in your sleep."

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"They were quite offended you know."

"Why?" Harry looked miserable.

"Wanted to know why you fancied Bill and not them."

"I'm never going to be able to look anyone in your family in the face again."

"Buck up, Harry. It's not like they'd tell anybody."

"They told you!"

"Well, they did. But I'm your best friend."

"I'll bet you a Sickle to a sausage they told Bill."

"You're probably right. They probably told Charlie too. Look on the bright side. They didn't tell Ginny. Wouldn't want to break her heart."

"You don't care?"

"Naw, why would I? Bill's a poof too. That's why he broke up with Fleur. Oh, I probably shouldn't have told you that. Now I'm going to have to put a silencing charm around your bed at night."

"Shut up."

"Right you are, mate." Ron clapped his hands together and looked expectantly at Hermione. "So, what were you two talking about."

"Hermione has some crackpot idea that's not worth rehashing."

"'S'that why you wanted me out of the room? Didn't want me to know you could have a barmy idea?"

Hermione glared at him. Harry laughed.

"She thinks Snape fancies me."

"Ecch! I'm glad I haven't eaten anything yet."

Hermione took a sandwich and bit into it. "He does fancy him."

"You're daft." Ron said, helping himself to some pumpkin juice.

"No, listen," Hermione briefly recapped what she had said to Harry.

Ron's eyes got wide. "She's right you know. Then she always is, damn her."

"Shut up," Harry yelled. "Snape couldn't possibly be interested in me. He hates me. You know that as well as I do."

"I always thought he did too, Harry. But not anymore," Hermione said.

"What if it's some plan of V-Voldemort's?" Ron suggested enthusiastically. "You know, seduce the Boy Who Lived, or get you preoccupied with Snape's plan so you're not paying attention and the Death Eater's can capture you!"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, looking at her friend with exasperation. "Not another one of your 'Snape really is a Death Eater' scenarios. We go through this every year. For the last time, Snape is _not_ a Death Eater and Dumbledore trusts him!"

"Yeah, but Dumbledore isn't always right, is he?" Harry said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Professor Moody, for one. Dumbledore trusted him for a whole year before he discovered Moody was really Barty Crouch, Jr. What if he's wrong about Snape, Hermione?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Harry. Don't you start too. Professor Snape is on our side! Look at all the times he saved your neck."

"You know, every one always says that, but really he only ever saved me once, right Ron?"

"Yeah, the broomstick thing!" Ron agreed excitedly. "And he didn't know V-Voldemort was hiding in Quirrel's turban, did he? No, he did not! Maybe if he'd known Quirrel was hiding You-Know-Who -- don't look at me that way, I said the name before, it's just habit-- if he'd known that it was V-Voldemort all along, maybe he wouldn't have saved Harry."

"What about trying to save you from Sirius?" Hermione asked, her annoyance with Ron spilling over to Harry..

"Are you daft? There was nothing to save me from! Sirius wasn't trying to hurt me, you know that as well as I do!"

"Yes, but Snape didn't know it, Harry! He thought Sirius was trying to kill you and he tried to save you."

"He wasn't trying to save Harry. He was trying to get himself an Order of Merlin for capturing Sirius," Ron supplied.

"Oh! You two!" Hermione shouted.

"Calm down, Hermione. You're the smartest girl I've ever met, and you're probably right -- you usually are -- but what if you're wrong? What if Snape still _is_ a Death Eater? What if this really _is_ a plot to seduce Harry? I'm just saying we should keep an open mind, consider all the angles, that's all."

Hermione kissed Ron on the forehead. "When did you become so reasonable?"

Ron grinned. "Must be your good influence, maybe your brain's rubbing off on me."

"Ronald Weasley, you say the sweetest things." Hermione leaned into Ron and their lips met in a brief kiss.

"Would you two please stop that!" Harry shouted.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't realise it really bothered you." Hermione blushed lightly.

"It doesn't so much bother me as I find it completely DISGUSTING AND REVOLTING!"

Ron threw a pillow at him. "You're just jealous, mate. Whyn't you go and find Snape. I bet he'll kiss you."

Harry let out a wild whoop and tackled the pair, dragging them to the floor and straddling both of them.

"Who's the greatest wizard of the age?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Hermione and Ron chanted in unison.

"Shut up. It's me, you twits." He waved his wand in their faces and bounced up and down. "Who's the greatest wizard of the age?"

"Harry Potter," they groaned.

"And who's his Grand Vizier?"

"Miss Know-It-All Granger!" Ron shouted.

"And who's his faithful consort, his Keeper of the Privy Everything?"

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione said at the same time Ron shouted, "Severus Snape!"

Harry touched his wand to Hermione's forehead. "You, faithful friend, are still my Grand Vizier. You," he poked Ron's chin, "are a mangy cur and must die!" He tickled Ron who giggled loudly.

Abruptly, Ron shifted his leg abruptly, throwing Harry to the side. With a war whoop of his own, he pounced on Harry, straddling his chest.

"Here now! I never! Such a ruckus. I would expect sixth years to behave a little more age-appropriately." Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway glaring down at the heap of Gryffindors. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Each."

"But Professor," Harry began.

"Enough, Mister Potter. Go to bed, all of you. It's two o'clock in the morning."

"But..."

"Not another peep, Potter. To bed! This instant!"

With Professor McGonagall impatiently watching their every move, Harry, Hermione and Ron gathered their things and slunk off to bed.

TBC

Coming up next: **Chapter 6: The Sweet Cheat Gone**; _In which our hero admits, more or less, his feelings_


	6. The Sweet Cheat Gone

**Chapter 6: The Sweet Cheat Gone**  
In which our hero admits, more or less, his feelings.

_We do not succeed in changing things according to our desire, but gradually our desire changes._  
–- Marcel Proust: _The Sweet Cheat Gone_ _ch. 1, Remembrance of Things Past, v.2_

_>>>>>>>>>>_

Snape awoke in the darkness. Vivid as it had seemed on waking, his conscious mind now snatched fruitlessly at the disappearing wisps of a singular dream, and he was left feeling vaguely disoriented. He sat up in bed, and immediately sank back down as his hangover made its presence known. If he didn't sway Potter soon, he was destined to become a dipsomaniac.

His room was frigid. Although it was rather late in the season, the temperature made him sure that it had snowed during the night. Hogwarts would now lay under a white mantel. He rather hoped it had stopped snowing; if it continued to come down, all the students would be confined indoors, and the noise would be unbearable.

Groping for his wand under his pillow, Snape gave a careless flick and parted the curtains. First light was just breaking, providing enough illumination to know snow was still falling -- damn it. Still, as much as he missed his dungeon quarters, the windows in his new rooms made the move aboveground worthwhile; he had never had Dumbledore's skill with enchantments and had been unable to conjure a window in the dungeon with a view of the outside world.

He had moved because of Potter. And Dumbledore.

"_No matter how nice, a dungeon is never the best choice for a _romantic_ encounter. If you're seriously going to court Harry Potter–" Dumbledore was cut off by Snape's violent splutter._

"_Court, Albus? Court Harry Potter? COURT? ME?"_

_Dumbledore smiled and his blue eyes - paler than they had once been - still glittered as they always had. "What other word would I use, Severus? What word do you use when you think about it?"_

"_I don't think about it."_

"_You don't think about it?"_

"_No. I don't."_

"_Severus, this is marvellous! You must tell me how you do it."_

_Snape's eyes twitched and the vein in his forehead popped out. He could feel it. "Albus, you're pushing a little too far."_

_Dumbledore's face immediately became solemn, but his eyes still twinkled. "You must think of it occasionally. How _do_ you think of it in that rare event? This is important, Severus."_

"_I don't know. I suppose I think of it as . . . as getting him. Getting Harry Potter."_

"_Ah yes, that's quite romantic."_

"_Don't be sarcastic, Albus. You're no good at it."_

_Albus merely looked at him and said nothing. And said nothing. And said nothing._

"_Fine! I'll move aboveground! We wouldn't want dear Mr Potter to get a chill."_

So, Snape had moved upstairs. To a room on the third floor. A room with windows. Far away from his lovely dungeon. All because of Potter.

Potter.

Looking out the window Snape knew the move had been a good thing. And therefore not to be trusted. But, it wouldn't hurt to just think about it, about the reason for it. Now, on this snowy winter's morning, warm in his bed.

Snape's nightshirt had, as usual, rucked up around his waist while he slept. It was a nuisance, particularly when he found himself laying on a large wad of it, but he was damned if he was ever going to resort to Muggle pyjamas. No matter how much sense they made.

He groaned aloud at the ridiculous, convoluted paths his brain was taking. He fisted the hem of his nightshirt and yanked it over his head, quickly diving back under the covers. Fumbling for his wand again, Snape cast _Incendio_ and the fireplace blazed to life.

His nipples had instantly stiffened in the brief moments his chest had been uncovered, and tried to rub warmth in them before he folded his hands under his armpits. Almost immediately his hands came back out, returned to the two still-stiff nipples and took them gently between thumbs and forefingers.

He had been awake for less than two minutes and already he had thought of Potter three times. He might as well just give in. Where was the harm?

There would be worse things than bedding Harry Potter. The boy was not entirely graceless. He had a brain, even if he usually chose not to use it. And he had those long fingered, nicely tapered hands, and a lot of manual dexterity; although you couldn't tell that from the way he diced and chopped potions ingredients.

A few more backhanded compliments on the subject of Potter, and Snape's left hand slid down his rib-cage, tugged lightly at the beginning of the trail under his navel. He stilled his hand there, not moving down any further, trying desperately not to feel desperate. His right hand continued to rub and pull at his nipples. He bared his teeth and pinched harder, and harder, anything not to think about

Potter.

Potter with his untamed hair and Quidditch reflexes. Potter with his insolence and insouciance. Potter. The greatest wizard since Albus Dumbledore, and likely to surpass that great man before very much longer. Potter, with the innate magic unlike anything Snape had ever experienced. Yes, there would be worse things than bedding Harry Potter.

Such as Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley.

Snape shuddered violently and thrust his hand down to his groin, grabbing his cock and roughly stroking it, trying to stroke out the thought of Potter's parasitic twins. He tugged his foreskin over the head of his cock and then slid it back, digging a thumbnail into the tiny eye on the way down. With his hand on his cock he could completely forget his hangover-caused headache, and think only of Potter.

He might have to gag the whelp when he fucked him; he wasn't sure he could tolerate the boy's mindless drivel in bed. He wondered suddenly what Potter's cock looked like and conjured up a surprisingly chaste vision of Harry standing in front of him, in Muggle trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. Snape's hand moved faster on his cock, fingernails deliberately digging into the swollen flesh. His right hand moved down to cup his balls and his mind was on Potter, on taking Potter, on fucking Potter, on

"FUCK! WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

The sound of knocking -- that Snape just then realized had been going on in counterpoint to his hand on his cock -- penetrated the room, although it was by no means loud. He dropped his cock and made sure his entire body was covered by the duvet as a house-elf, attired in a disturbing combination of hats, socks and a maroon sweater, goggled at him with its immense green eyes. Snape's headache returned with a vengeance. He hated house-elves. Particularly at this precise moment.

"Dobby is sorry for disturbing Professor Snape, sir. Dobby is very sorry. But Professor McGonagall is sending you this, saying it must be delivered immediately and right into Professor Snape's own hands, sir."

Snape blinked. The elf had clearly said something, but Snape had no idea what that something was. In wonder, his eyes travelled the short distance from the elf's head to its feet.

"You're wearing clothes."

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir."

"Why are you wearing clothes?"

"Dobby is a free elf, sir."

"You are? Wait, aren't you Lucius Malfoy's house-elf? You are!"

"Not anymore, sir. Dobby is a free elf and working at Hogwarts for wages."

"Don't be absurd, elves don't get paid."

"Dobby is being paid, sir, a galleon a week."

"Why? How?"

"Professor Dumbledore hired Dobby, after Harry Potter is freeing him."

Dumbledore and Potter. Of course. Who else? Snape's erection had utterly dwindled during this conversation, and he resignedly swung his legs out of bed.

"Give me that bottle. Fetch me some tea. I suppose it's time to be getting up."

Snape had not even finished tying the belt on his dressing gown when Dobby was back with the tea. The elf laid the table and was gone before Snape had taken two steps. Snape blinked, shook his head, and sat down at the table. He picked up the little blue bottle that McGonagall had sent, and tossed the contents back. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as smoke billowed out his ears. Someday, he was going to have to do something about that aspect of Pepper-Up; especially now that he was using so much of it.

Snape picked up his mail from the table. He hadn't even been aware of an owl's arrival. Perhaps Dobby had brought it for some reason. _Potions Quarterly. Potions Monthly. Advance Journal of Advanced Potions. _The usual, but with a handwritten note underneath them all.

_Severus,_

_Please come see me at your convenience. _

_We need to discuss Mr Potter._

_Albus_

Of course, Snape thought, I get interrupted while wanking over Harry Potter by a house-elf in clothes, with a summons from the Headmaster to talk about Harry Potter. Snape's lip curled. This _is_ going to be a good day.

Fifteen minutes later, Snape had finished his tea, shaved, showered, dressed, and was on his way to the Headmaster's quarters. His erection had thankfully not returned but he grimaced at the unaccustomed ache in his balls.

Turning the corner he almost bumped into a student who was clutching his forehead with one hand while beating his other fist against the guardian gargoyle. Snape struggled to keep his groan inaudible.

"Potter," he said sharply, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you at breakfast?"

Harry turned around, glaring as usual. From the way the boy had been clutching his head, Snape was not surprised to see the famous scar was quite swollen and angry-looking. Snape felt a pang of what, in another person, would be identified as sympathy. His cock, twitched, apparently sympathetic as well.

With typical insolence, Potter rolled his eyes. "Breakfast isn't for another hour at least. I need to see the Headmaster, but he's changed his password again," Harry said.

"He's changed his password to keep out cretins such as you."

"I need to see him," Harry repeated through clenched teeth.

"Why? You know he's ill."

"I know. I wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important."

"Is it your scar? The Dark Lord?"

"It's none of your business, is what it is. Look, Snape, be a nice guy for once and let me in."

Snape resisted the urge to throttle the boy. No matter how good it would feel, throttling was not _nice_, and he was supposed to be trying to be _nice_ to the arrogant little shit. No matter how _nice_ it would feel to wrap his fingers around that pretty little neck, Potter would no doubt think otherwise.

"Well, you're just going to have to wait your turn. I've an appointment."

Harry looked sceptical. "If you have an appointment, what time's it at?"

Snape had no idea what time it was. The impudent wretch had said breakfast was in an hour. "Seven o'clock."

Exultation flashed across Potter's face. "Well, it's only about half past, now. So let me in and I'll be done before your appointment time."

Nice. Be nice. Snape bared his teeth. Judging from Potter's new expression, it hadn't come across as a reassuring smile. Stupid, overbearing, judgmental _little shit._ "The password is 'Earwax'."

Harry did a comic double-take. "Yeah, right. If you don't want to help me then don't help me, but it doesn't do any good to yank my chain."

"I'm quite in earnest, Mr Potter. As it is well known that the Headmaster does not care for Bertie Bott's Beans, he thought it would be a good safeguard if he adopted them as his passwords. He's going through them alphabetically." Snape smiled again. "I can hardly wait until he gets to 'Vomit'."

Harry laughed and then looked at Snape suspiciously. "Why're you telling me then, if it's such a state secret?"

"Oh, well, the great Harry Potter. If we can't trust our illustrious celebrity, if we can't trust the Hero of the Wizarding World, if we can't trust a Gryffindor..."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said rudely. Under his breath he added, "Bite me."

"Are you propositioning a teacher, Potter? I could have you expelled for that."

"You're disgusting and I don't have time for this. Earwax. Earwax. Open up you stupid thing."

"Patience, Mister Potter. If you would only learn it, it would serve you well."

When the gargoyle stepped aside, Snape followed Harry onto the moving spiral staircase.

"What're you following me for. You're appointment isn't for another half hour. Why don't you go skin some kneazles or something."

"Very amusing, Potter. Three points from Gryffindor for being impertinent."

"Ooh. Three points. This is a serious infraction. You usually just take two."

"Very well, two _more_ points from Gryffindor. Keep mouthing off, you little guttersnipe. You'll be back at your previous depths shortly."

"Please, sir," Harry said sarcastically, "I need to speak with the Headmaster in private. Would you be so kind as to wait outside?"

The door to Dumbledore's office swung open. "Harry, what's happened? Your scar! Severus, please excuse us. I'll be with you shortly."

Harry flipped Snape a smug look as he followed Dumbledore's shuffling carpet slippers into the office, shutting the door behind himself.

"Certainly, Headmaster. I'll just come back in half an hour; you'll be done with the golden boy by then," Snape said to the closed door.

Rather than walking all the way down to the dungeons to begin work, Severus decided to cool his heels outside Dumbledore's office. There was, after all, a slight chance that he could hear what was being said. He leaned his shoulders and head against the wall, straining to hear and wishing he had a pair of the Weasley twins' extendable ears.

>>>>

Twenty minutes later Snape had almost fallen asleep standing up. He started when the office door opened.

"I'm sure everything will be fine, Harry. Thank you for coming to me with this. Not just because it's important, but it means quite a bit that you're willing to try trusting me again. I'll try to make sure you don't regret it."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Harry turned and looked at Snape. "You still here? Hear anything good, Snape?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Severus, so good of you to wait. Please come in. No, no, lead the way, my friend. My gait is a little slow these days. Good day, Harry."

Snape scowled at Potter's retreating back before the office door swung closed.

"What can I offer you, Severus?"

"Nothing, Headmaster. Thank you. I've had my tea."

"So, what did you want to see me about?"

Snape looked momentarily perplexed. "Ah, you requested my presence, Albus."

"So I did. So I did. This illness has really taken something out of me. I feel at least a hundred and fifty-five years old."

Snape successfully kept from rolling his eyes at the supposed witticism.

"What did Potter want?"

"How's it going with you two?"

Snape nearly snarled. How like Dumbledore to refuse to answer a question and then pose one of his own. But Dumbledore was ill, and his employer; it behove Snape to be polite.

"I suppose you can judge for yourself. I'm sure you somehow sucked the marrow of our most recent little contretemps out of Potter."

"I'm afraid I did hear you call him a guttersnipe."

"That's not half so harsh as what was on my tongue to say."

Dumbledore laughed. "I've no doubt. It appears things are not progressing well."

"Could be worse. I could be pursuing Weasley Number Six."

"Yes, I suspect that would be more difficult. You and Ron have much less in common than you and Harry."

Snape glared. "I have nothing in common with that . . ."

"What exactly is a guttersnipe? Never mind. The day's only just begun and already I grow tired. I'd advise you not to grow old, Severus, if it weren't my most fervent wish that you are able to."

"Why am I here, Albus?"

"I suppose I should get to the point. I want you to resume Occlumency lessons with Harry."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious."

"After what that whelp did the last time? No, Albus. No. I refuse. Absolutely not."

"Did you happen to notice Harry's scar this morning."

"It was hard to miss," Snape admitted.

"I find the physical manifestations of redness and swelling very worrisome. Harry informs me that Voldemort appears to be in an almost constant state of rage. Harry's experiences are no longer occurring solely when he's asleep. He tells me the last two days, the pain has been almost constant."

"Amazing how he still manages to mouth off."

"My second most fervent wish for you," Dumbledore said pointedly, "is that you learn patience."

"I am my father's son, the Dark Lord's personal whipping boy, Potter's keeper, and your spy. I think I have tremendous patience."

"I have neither time nor energy to spar with you. Will you resume Occlumency lessons or not? I think it's vital, and it may give you an additional opportunity to become friendly with the boy; if only you'll hold your temper. Remember, Severus, he's only sixteen, and you, at least nominally, are the adult."

"He said the last two days the pain has been persistent?"

"Yes."

"I imagine the Dark Lord will summon me soon, then. There's a good chance this means his headaches are getting worse."

"Are you making progress on a potion?"

"I've been experimenting with Muggle pharmaceuticals. If I can just find the right ingredients and proportions, I may be able to give him something that will ease the headaches, while providing side effects that are not easily apparent."

"Is there anything I can do to assist?"

"Find me a reliable source for morphine, or other opium derivatives. They're illegal in our world and my man in Knockturn is not being very accommodating."

"Will you resume the Occlumency lessons?"

"Yes. Damn it."

"Then I'll find you a source for your opium."

Dumbledore stood and swayed slightly. Snape jumped to his feet and took hold of a thin arm.

"Back to bed with you, I think. Should I call Poppy?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine. I'm just tired. I don't have the strength of a newborn kitten these days. Help me to my room, will you, there's a dear boy."

"Albus . . ."

"Not now, Severus. I'll be fine. I see my end and it is not today. Today, we have things to do."

Dumbledore sat heavily on the edge of his bed and Snape helped him lift his legs up. When the old man was comfortably arranged under the covers, Snape turned to go.

"Severus," Dumbledore called weakly, "keep your pensieve out of temptation's way. And you might consider giving the boy one of his own. I know you believe he'd work harder if he had things to hide, but he's of an age now . . . well, just consider giving him one of his own."

"I'll think on it. Good day, Albus. Sleep well."

Snape pondered Albus's telling statement, "he's of an age now," all the way back down to the Dungeons.

TBC

Coming up next: **Chapter 7: The Ignominies of His Nature** _In which our hero reveals himself and the sands shift under his feet._


	7. The Ignominies of His Nature

**Chapter 7: The Ignominies of His Nature**  
In which our hero reveals himself and the sands shift under his feet.

_What pursuit is more elegant than that of collecting the ignominies of our nature and transfixing them for show_  
**-- **Logan Pearsall Smith: _Myself_

_>>>>>>>>>> _

Friday's sixth year Potions class was an exercise in slow torture. Potter's behaviour migrated from irritating to a museum piece of adolescent truculence. Snape wanted to slap him. Quite frankly, he wanted to do more than slap him. There was something very appealing about that defiant stance, about the robes open over Muggle clothing - shirttails out. Of the dark-shadowed eyes and sleep-deprived face.

"We're never going to make a real wizard out of you, are we, Potter?" No longer able to resist the temptation, Snape stood towering over Harry, looking him up and down with an expression of distaste.

Harry looked right back at him, hands clenched at his sides. "I may not be much yet, Snape, but I'm going to be a better wizard than you could ever dream of being."

That was it. That was past it.

"Get out of my classroom, you self-aggrandizing, conceited, arrogant, little muttonhead! GET OUT! And don't come back until you're ready to apologize."

"The Archbishop of Canterbury will be sacrificing chickens on the altar of Merlin before I _ever_ give you an apology!" Harry jammed his books into his book bag and stormed out of the classroom on a wave of whispers and half-fearful laughs.

Snape could feel the blood rushing through every vein in his body. He had _never_ hit a student, but at that moment he wanted to chase Potter down the corridor and smash him into a bloody pulp. The urge was so strong, all he could do was hide his hands in the long sleeves of his robes and dig his fingernails into his arms until he drew blood.

"I have never been so close to thrashing a student in my life! If any of you other half-wits think Mr Potter's behaviour is worth emulating, I will be more than happy to slip over the edge. CLASS DISMISSED!"

Snape was still standing over Harry's abandoned chair as his students, utterly silent, made their escape as quickly as possible. He could _feel_ his knuckles turning white. Ten minutes after the last student had fled, he finally managed to move.

"God _damn_ that boy!"

"Severus?"

Snape whirled. "Minerva. What's wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

With a bitter smile, Snape said, "The usual."

"Potter?"

"Who else?"

"I saw him flying up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He looked as if . . . he were crying. What did you do to him?"

"I did nothing to your precious little chick, old woman, except ban him from my classroom until he apologises."

"Courting's going that well, eh?"

"Shut it."

"He's a troubled boy, Severus. A boy who's had a very difficult life. A boy bearing a very large burden. He's sixteen, Severus. You're thirty-seven. You might try to remember that."

Snape let out an exaggerated groan. "You're the second person to tell me that, third if you count Potter's attempts at wit. I don't know why he aggravates me so thoroughly, but he does. He flashes those accusing eyes at me and suddenly I'm fifteen again and he's James Potter."

"If you really paid attention, you'd notice he's more like Lily than he is James."

"Is he? I can't tell anything about him anymore. I get within twenty metres of him and I see red. All I know about him right now is that he's rude, sarcastic and unthinking."

Minerva smiled

"What?" Snape demanded.

"Nothing important. I was just thinking how often it is what we most despise in other people are those faults we share with them."

Snape glared.

"Who was the first person to tell you to act your age?" Minerva asked placidly, clearly unmoved by Snape's death glare.

"Albus. Who else?"

"Of course. I'm very worried about him."

"We all are."

"And he's worried about you. It would be a tremendous load off his mind if you could settle this thing with Potter."

>>>>

Potter was absent from Potions on Monday, and again on Wednesday. The _enfant terrible_ had been absent from the Great Hall as well; at least when Snape was there. Now that he stopped to think about it, Snape realised he hadn't seen the boy at all over the weekend either. Much to his irritation, he felt vaguely guilty. Potter could ill-afford to miss either Potions or meals. He tried to tell himself he had been justified, that Potter had been unbearably rude. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't angry solely because Potter's words had struck home. He tried to tell himself that Potter's parting comment about the Archbishop of Canterbury hadn't been funny.

On Thursday Snape was the first one to arrive in the Great Hall for each meal, and the last one to leave. Potter had been a no-show. That was decidedly worrisome. The imp would make himself ill. It was time to talk to Albus again.

>>>>

"I assume he's been cadging food from his friend, that house-elf, but I don't know if I'm correct. For some unaccountable reason I'm hesitant to ask the elf; afraid he'll tell me Potter _hasn't_ been."

"This is upsetting, Severus. I haven't seen Harry since he last came to me about his scar."

"The rapport was only temporary?"

"Apparently. I know he must be having a difficult time. I can only imagine what he's feeling."

"Sixteen-year-olds are notoriously over-sensitive."

Dumbledore admonished him. "Even you, Severus, must realise how hard it is for Harry right now."

"You shouldn't have told him about the prophecy."

"I should have told him about the prophecy long before I did. I've made too many mistakes, and I don't know how to rectify them. Harry . . ." Dumbledore sighed and trailed off, clearly lost in thought.

"You spoil him, Albus. Allow him leeway you allow no other student. Nor any of the faculty, I might add."

"It seems to me I allow you, and have _always_ allowed you, tremendous leeway. If I permit the boy to attempt too much, it is only because he must learn what he's up against. Wits are sharpened more by doing than by texts."

"Perhaps you're right. Even when he's not speaking to you, you seem to know more about the boy than anyone; as you seem to know more about everything, blast you.

"Albus, I . . ." Snape felt at a loss.

Dumbledore waited patiently for the Potions master to find his words.

"About Potter. I think I've made a mistake."

Snape paused again. Dumbledore watched him with a hopeful expression.

"I know you were happy when I agreed with you that I need a keeper." The last word was pronounced with extreme distaste. "I know you were delighted when I decided Potter was my best chance, but the rift between us is too wide to be bridged at this late date. I've decided to turn my efforts in another direction."

"You will, of course, suit yourself, Severus; although you never think so, ultimately you always do. I would remind you, however, that if there is a rift between you and Potter, it is entirely your own doing."

"Headmaster! The wretch has been arrogant and insolent from his very first day of class. He's lazy with his work and consistently insubordinate."

"Enough, Severus!" Dumbledore's anger left him breathless and wheezy.

Snape was shocked. He had felt Dumbledore's wrath before, but he had always understood the reason, even if he hadn't agreed with it. This time, an obviously ridiculous accusation had been hurled. If anyone should be angry, it was Snape. But even though it was none of his doing, Snape also felt guilty over Albus's undeniable physical distress.

"Poppy's warned me about my temper," Albus offered in a thin voice.

That was something Snape could hardly credit. Generally speaking Albus was of an annoyingly even temperament. Perhaps there was something in this illness . . . He would ask Poppy about it later, or maybe Minerva would know.

"Harry came to this school ignorant of magic and ignorant of his parents, after suffering through an upbringing that was, to put it charitably, difficult."

The last was news to Snape, but Albus had clearly not yet finished his point. If he remembered to, Snape would ask about it later.

"Don't think I don't know how you treat students, Severus. I have allowed you more leeway, for more years, than I have any other living person. Your treatment of Harry is shameful and I'm sorry I never stopped it. It's often so hard to know the right thing to do. As I said, I've made many mistakes. So have you, and it's time you own up to yours.

Snape began to splutter an objection but Dumbledore ignored him, continuing as if unaware of Severus' irritation.

"The boy has suffered losses and threats that have broken grown wizards, and still he survives, and until the death of Sirius Black I like to think he thrived as well. Think about that, Severus. Think about the fact that you are the only teacher in this school who does not respect Potter's achievements."

"I'm the only teacher in this school who doesn't coddle him, you mean!" Snape was very close to screaming. Only Albus's pale face and trembling hands kept him in check.

"I mean exactly what I say. Minerva certainly doesn't coddle him. I believe she's taken more points from Potter than anyone. Oh, do shut up, Severus," Albus scolded as another outraged sputter broke forth. "You created your problem with Harry, and it's up to you to fix it. He's actually quite a charming young man, in spite of everything he's suffered. You will do well to think on that."

"Albus . . ."

"I'm tired, Severus. I think it's time for me to lie down again."

It was a dismissal, plain and simple. Snape knew he should offer to assist Dumbledore to bed, as he had done before, but he was too angry. The idea that Potter's execrable behaviour was somehow Snape's fault . . . It didn't bear thinking about. Albus could get his own damn self to bed.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I hope your rest helps. I'll leave the matter of Potter's dietary deficiencies in your hands. Good-day."

Without waiting for a response, Snape turned with an even greater billow of robes than was usual, and escaped the office before he said something he'd really regret.

>>>>

Snape was greeted in his room by Fawkes, bearing a note.

"Sick, but not too sick to keep hounding me. You old fool."

Fawkes turned his head away but looked at Snape through the corner of one bright eye.

"Go. You've delivered your note. I've nothing for you. And I won't be scolded by a damn bird!"

Fawkes trilled and disappeared in a flash of light. Snape sneered after him and then opened the note.

_I know you're angry, but think on what I've said._

_If you decide to put your attention elsewhere, so be it,_

_but you'll still need to start Occlumency lessons sooner, _

_rather than later._

_-A-_

Damn him! Damn Potter. Damn everything! Snape balled up Albus's message and tossed it in the grate.

Snape's sleep was restless. He tossed and turned most of the night, kicking covers off his bed, and at one point finally throwing off his nightshirt which kept getting tangled around his thrashing legs. Potter. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord. Potter. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord. Potter.

Finally, in irritation, Snape flung off what covers remained and climbed out of bed, naked and shivering. It was quite late, or very early. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains, still shaking with cold. He didn't dress, somehow his discomfort seemed appropriate. He didn't bother to think why.

At first there was little to see from his window. The light of dawn was more a suggestion in the sky than a reality. Early then. Spring was finally coming and the days were getting longer, much to Snape's displeasure. He liked the dark.

He stood staring blankly out. Beyond noticing that the sun was considering its climb above the horizon, he saw nothing else until the shadow of a movement arrested his attention. Someone was moving around in the near-darkness and, though it was a bit hard to be sure from this distance, Snape was confident it was a student. Probably one up to no good. Not even Hagrid would be up and about this early on a Saturday.

His spirits rose. He needed a target for his anger and a student wandering about in the dark was perfect. In these dangerous times even Albus couldn't chastise him for punishing a student out before curfew was lifted. Snape fixed his eye on the miscreant and determined the path being taken. He quickly drew on his robes, then stormed out of his room, wand in hand. He wouldn't actually use it, of course, but it would serve him to have the threat of using it handy.

Snape's angry strides across the expanse of shadowed green lawn stopped abruptly. He only barely stifled a groan. His target was standing about ten metres from the Whomping Willow. Potter. Who else?

Snape contemplated his next move. After a moment, with a frustrated sigh, he tucked his wand back into its pocket.

Well, Snape thought, at least he has the sense to stand out of range. If Potter was saying something, Snape couldn't hear it, but the tree was flailing its branches about angrily, almost doubling over in an attempt to club its tormentor.

Snape moved quietly to the side; if the boy turned around he wouldn't see anyone, but Potter never turned, he just stood watching the tree with shoulders slumped and shivering in the chill early morning air. Sadness and loneliness seemed to flow off the boy in great waves. Snape found himself feeling sympathetic. It could have been himself standing there.

"What are you doing, you feckless idiot, other than annoying the tree?"

Potter whirled around, wand out. If Snape had been eagerly anticipating Potter's wrath at being discovered, he was disappointed.

"Oh, it's you. Just my luck," Potter said flatly, and then, repocketing his wand, turned back to the tree.

"Don't you turn your back on me! I asked you a question, boy!"

Potter turned and looked at Snape again, looking more resigned than angry. He shrugged his shoulders. He was still shivering, and although the light hadn't yet broken above the forest, and the moon had long since set, Snape thought the boy's eyes glittered oddly. As if he had been . . . crying.

In a moved that surprised Snape more than it appeared to surprise Potter, Snape shrugged his cloak off his shoulders and draped it around the boy.

However kind the gesture, Snape's voice was waspish as usual. "No one ever taught you to come in from the cold? You'll catch your death, gormless twit. Now, for the third and last time, what are you doing out here in the dark?"

Harry shrugged again. "Feeling sorry for myself, I suppose."

It appeared Albus was right. Again.

"You have much to be sorry for," Snape said quietly.

Harry suddenly seemed to shake off his misery. "Shut up! Just shut up, can't you? I'm not miserable enough without you always snarking at me, and cataloguing my sins?"

"Potter -- Harry, I'm sorry." Snape sounded stiff and formal. He was piqued. He had actually been trying to be kind to the little monster. He shook himself and took a deep breath. "I phrased it poorly. That's not what I meant."

"Oh right," Harry said sarcastically. "All's forgiven then, what? So perhaps now you'll leave me alone?"

"I meant, impudent boy, that there is much in your life to make you feel sorrowful."

"Sympathy from you? That's rich. You're slipping, Snape. What do you really want from me? Why are you dogging my steps? Why all these talks'?"

"I'm most certainly not 'dogging your steps'. I saw a student from my window. Outside, before daylight, against the rules. I had no idea it was you until I got down here! Why am I explaining myself to you?" Snape shouted. "You belong in your bed in Gryffindor Tower, not traipsing about endangering yourself."

"Look, I just need time to be alone! Why is that so much to ask? I'm not doing anything wrong."

"What's troubling you, Potter?" Snape could have bit his tongue. He should be taking points, not encouraging the boy.

Harry sank down onto the dew wet grass and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping Snape's cloak around himself. He looked up at his professor. "I just get upset sometimes and I figure it's better to come out here and irritate the tree than take it out on my friends and the professors."

Snape considered that for a moment. Then Albus's words came back to him. _You created your problem with Harry, and it's up to you to fix it._ Well, perhaps he could try.

"Is it because of Black?" Snape asked gently.

Harry stood up abruptly and screamed, "DON'T YOU! DON'T YOU DARE START TALKING ABOUT HIM! DON'T YOU DARE."

He lunged at Snape, arms flailing wildly, trying to land a blow. With the disparity in their height and weight, it was easy to fend him off. A frantic swing caused Harry to overbalance. If Snape hadn't put his arm out, the boy would have fallen. But he had put his arm out, and then he was behind the irate Potter. Without thinking, Snape wrapped both arms around the boy from behind, neatly pinning the flailing arms.

"Calm down, Potter."

"Let go of me!"

"Not until you calm down."

"I don't want you hugging me! Let go!" Harry struggled.

"I'm not _hugging_ you, you overweening egotist! I'm restraining you. I'll stop as soon as you CALM DOWN!"

Harry went still in Snape's arms. Snape immediately let go and stepped back, allowing Potter's limp body to fall to the ground. Potter landed on his arse. Snape laughed as Potter glared up at him.

"Here," Snape extended a hand. "Get up. I won't talk about him."

Grudgingly, Harry took Snape's hand and hoisted himself back to his feet. Snape thought he resembled a wild animal in a trap. His hair was in greater disarray than usual and his eyes looked almost yellow in the pale light.

"You had better _not_ talk about him!"

"I won't, except to say this." At Potter's irate look, Snape held up his hand, palm out in supplication. "Bear with me, just for a moment, Potter."

Harry looked at him suspiciously but surprisingly kept silent.

"I won't lie to you. For myself, I despised him. Our loathing was deep-rooted and mutual, and I'm not sorry he's gone, but I _am_ sorry you lost your godfather."

"You're not sorry he's gone. Oh that's nice, very kind of you. Your compassion overwhelms me."

Snape took a deep breath and thinking again of his earlier conversation with Dumbledore, resisted the urge to throttle the truculent brat in front of him. Ignoring Potter's suspicious look, he continued, "I'm sorry you never knew your parents. I'm sorry that Cedric Diggory died. I am sorry for all the losses you've suffered."

Potter snorted, but Snape noticed with satisfaction that the boy was looking less wild and the blue tinge of cold was leaching from his face. He continued to talk, determined to accomplish _something_.

"I won't say I know how you feel, because nobody does." He paused again. This was much harder than he'd thought it would be; if he had thought about it, which he hadn't until just that moment. This had better work, or Dumbledore was going to have a lot to answer for.

Snape steeled himself and took a deep breath. "I'm sure it will surprise you to know that I had a father and mother. When I was seven, my father sent my mother away. He told me she had died. I didn't find out until much later that she hadn't. Anyway, I lived alone with him until I came to Hogwarts. I say alone with him, but I should really just say alone. He certainly had as little to do with me as possible over the years."

"Why are you telling me this?" Genuine curiosity and frustrated belligerence were both evident in Potter's tone.

A part of Snape was asking the same question.

"When I'm finished, I think you'll know. My father did not speak to me unless he had to. I received no attention, no affection, no companionship. I had no brothers and sisters. I was schooled at home and we lived miles from anywhere, so I had no friends."

Snape rubbed his hands up and down his arms, missing the warmth of his cloak. But, as Potter looked much better, and Snape didn't want to stall whatever momentum he had just built up, he shrugged off the chill and continued with his story.

"Then I came to Hogwarts. I had never been taught magic, even though I grew up in a wizarding household; my father said it would be a wasted effort. Hogwarts was a wonder. And there was a seventh year, who somehow magically became my friend, exactly like the loving older brother I had never had but always wanted. And for the first time since I lost my mother, I had somebody who loved me. Even after he left Hogwarts he stayed in touch with me. I spent half my holidays with his family."

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, a sneer tempered by something in his eyes that looked suspiciously like compassion.

"Yes. Lucius. He was my protector, my friend, my family. The only one who stood up for me against my tormentors. Dumbledore tried to warn me, of course. It did no good. Well, you know something of my past, what I did when I left school. Eventually I chose to leave that life. The only thing that was hard about it was losing Lucius. Oh, he doesn't actually know I've left. He believes we're still friends, but there's a huge gulf between us; even if I am the only one aware of it."

Snape lapsed into silence and stared blankly into the lessening dark.

"OK. Maybe you do understand something. Maybe." Harry said grudgingly.

"I know what it's like to be alone. I know what it's like to bear a burden that no one else bears."

"Yeah. All right. I guess you do."

Harry sank back to the ground, wrapping himself up again in Snape's too large cloak. Snape said nothing more, just continued to stare off. The Whomping Willow had finally stilled, there was no wind, no early morning chorus of birds, no sound other than their breathing.

Finally, Snape broke the silence. "Dumbledore wants us to resume your 'Remedial Potions' lessons." He smiled disdainfully.

"Yeah, he told me. I was waiting for you to bring it up, hoping you wouldn't."

Harry's grin was weak, but it was a grin. Damn Albus. He was right. The boy was charming. Blast and damn!

"Is that what all this has been about?" Harry asked.

"All what?"

"You know," Harry grinned again, "dogging my footsteps."

"I have _not_ been dogging your footsteps, and I've already explained why I'm here."

"What about all our 'talks' then? Have you been intending to bring up Remedial Potions' and then losing your nerve?"

"The day I lose my nerve around you . . ." Oh hell. There was something Snape hadn't ever gotten up the nerve for.

"Potter -- Harry, do you recall our discussion about an armistice?"

"We made short work of that, didn't we?"

"Hmm. Yes, although currently we seem to have created a reasonable facsimile of a truce, at least for the moment."

"I've been wondering how that happened." Harry grinned mischievously. "Oh yeah. That's right. You apologised to me."

Snape snarled but he couldn't seem to conjure up enough real venom to make it work.

"Speaking of which . . ."

"Say no more. Professor Snape, I'm sorry. I was having a very bad day, and I shouldn't have said what I did to you."

"Do you hear that?" Snape asked, looking over his shoulder.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. It sounds rather like a chicken being sacrificed. There must be an altar to Merlin around here somewhere."

"Liked that line, did you?"

"Not in the least."

Harry smiled again and Snape startled himself by responding in kind.

"Potter, that day I spoke to you about the armistice, I . . . well, what I said was not exactly what I intended to convey. What I meant was . . . What I should have said was . . ."

"What? Spit it out. I can handle it. Whatever it is, I'm sure I've experienced worse."

"That's not quite the interpretation I was hoping for. No, don't say anything. If I don't get this out now, I never will. Potter, astounding as it might seem . . ."

Snape closed his eyes and swayed slightly. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing his Dark Mark would blaze in pain. Anything to get out of this.

"I've found myself, lately, thinking about you quite a bit. Thinking about our relationship, or lack of one, and how we might change it."

"We've made a start . . ."

The words were friendly enough, but Potter looked suspicious.

"Don't! Don't interrupt. Let me have my say. I know I haven't exactly been kind to you. I'm not a very kind person, frankly. I admit it. Dumbledore has taken me to task over it many times."

Harry looked as if he wanted to interrupt again. Snape continued in a rush.

"Damn it all! I'm taken with you, Potter. Damn it! _Harry_. Against my good sense, in opposition to my rational mind. . . I'm attracted to you. I'd like to attempt to see if we can become something more to each other than teacher and student. Something more, better, than enemies."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"You're gawking again, Potter."

"Yeah? Well, you would be too if you were me and I were you and I'd just said to you what you just said to me."

Harry pulled Snape's cloak from his shoulders and stuffed it in Snape's arms.

"I think we might be able to make a go of it, Potter."

"ARE YOU MAD? You've got to _force_ yourself to call me by my first name! Fuck! I'm only sixteen! I'm not even sure what you're suggesting is legal! Look, I'm sorry. Hex me into next week if you must, but I just can't have this conversation." Harry turned and fled.

Snape watched him disappear into the gloom, and shook his head. "Well, that went over well."

TBC

Coming up next: **Chapter 8: The Unforgivable Sin**; _In which our hero dissembles; Harry vanishes; and Dumbledore waffles_


	8. The Unforgivable Sin

**Chapter 8: The Unforgivable Sin**  
In which our hero dissembles; Harry vanishes; and Dumbledore waffles

_Despair is the price one pays for setting oneself an impossible aim. It is, one is told, the unforgivable sin, but it is a sin the corrupt or evil man never practises. He always has hope. He never reaches the freezing-point of knowing absolute failure. Only the man of goodwill carries always in his heart this capacity for damnation._  
Graham Greene: _The Heart of the Matter_

_>>>>>>>>>> _

Snape paced his private office. Something was off-kilter. He could feel it. Something more than his earlier bad start with Potter. It couldn't be Albus, he would know by now; Minerva or Poppy would have summoned him. His Slytherins were quiet; mostly outside the castle, on the grounds somewhere. He sensed nothing wrong from that quarter.

He looked longingly at his liquor cabinet. No. It was too early yet, not even midday.

He paced some more, rubbing absently at the Dark Mark on his arm. Not even a twinge.

Maybe it was just Potter. Something had not gone right there, and Snape had no idea what it was. Perhaps it was to be expected; the boy was as close to a mental defective as . . . well, that might not be _quite_ fair.

For what must have been the twentieth time in as many minutes, Snape strode to the window and looked out, not knowing what he hoped, or expected, to have changed. As it had been nineteen times before, there was nothing to see; just the grounds and the forest beyond.

He resumed pacing, trying to think of what might have caused Potter to bolt like a scared rabbit. Snape hadn't done anything untoward. For God's sake, it's not as if he had even touched the boy. Potter was sixteen. Old enough to hear a simple declaration of interest.

Snape walked to the window again and seeing nothing, resumed his pacing, stopping periodically to gaze at his liquor cabinet.

>>>>

Hermione spotted Professor McGonagall in the corridor outside the Transfiguration classroom.

"There she is. C'mon, Ron. Professor!"

Hermione took off running. Ron followed close behind, one hand clutching her arm, looking more as if he were trying to slow her down than keep up with her.

McGonagall turned around at the sound of her name, and peered disapprovingly at the running pair over the top of her glasses.

"Professor," Hermione panted as she skidded to a halt in front of McGonagall, Ron slamming into her from behind, "Harry's mis--"

"Hermione!" Ron whispered fiercely, yanking on her arm.

She turned around and glared at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Ron flicked a glance at Professor McGonagall.

"Hmph," Hermione said, "I thought not."

"Except," Ron said, "he's really not going to like this."

"Ron, we've been through this several times already. If everything's fine, he won't like it, but if something's wrong, if he's in trouble . . ."

"For Heaven's sake," McGonagall interrupted irritably, "stop arguing and tell me what's wrong. Who is not going to like what?"

Ron looked at Hermione, squinting crossly, and said again through clenched teeth, "Hermione."

"Harry's missing," Hermione blurted.

Ron groaned.

McGonagall's eyes widened in alarm. "What do you mean 'Harry's missing'? Since when?"

No one's seen him since before dinner last night."

"Her-Mi-O-Ne," Ron whispered, his teeth still clenched.

Hermione swatted his arm. "Enough, Ron. You're going to get lockjaw and we have to tell somebody. Harry's been missing for at least eighteen hours."

"Eighteen hours?" McGonagall was shocked, and very, very angry. "And you're just now informing me? We have to see the Headmaster. You two, come with me!" She set off at a brisk pace, not bothering to check if Hermione and Ron were following.

At the stone gargoyle she said, "Flounder."

Hermione turned to Ron and whispered, "Flounder? I thought he always used some kind of sweet."

"Every Flavour Beans," Ron said knowledgeably. "It's really disgusting. You'd think they'd have at least made it taste like cooked--"

"Quickly," McGonagall ordered as the moving spiral staircase was revealed.

"I hate to disturb Albus," she muttered under her breath, "but with Potter missing . . ."

The door to Dumbledore's tower office swung open as they approached. "Wait here," McGonagall barked. She walked around the Headmaster's desk and knocked on a door Hermione and Ron hadn't realised was there. There was no audible response but she entered without waiting. After several minutes and muttered words that Ron and Hermione strained in vain to hear, McGonagall emerged followed by a very slow-moving Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore, are you all right?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. I seem to have caught a bug, but I'll be fine. Thank you for asking. Now, what's this about Harry being missing?"

"I'm afraid isn't much to tell, Professor; it's just we haven't seen Harry since yesterday afternoon."

"Yesterday afternoon?" McGonagall asked sternly. "You said not since dinner."

"Minerva, please. I know you're upset but it hardly matters whether Harry's been missing for eighteen hours or twenty." He turned back to Hermione and Ron. "Do you know if something in particular has been bothering him lately? More dreams? Pains from his scar?"

"No, Professor. At least I don't think so."

Hermione turned and looked at Ron who reluctantly shook his head.

"He's been in a funny mood since last Friday, since Snape . . ." Hermione stopped.

"Professor Snape, Miss Granger. Yes, I did hear about that. I had rather been hoping that Harry and Professor Snape could work things out between themselves. Perhaps it was foolish of me. Do you think Harry's disappearance has anything to do with his suspension from Potions?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "we've barely seen or spoken to him all week, and Ron said he didn't sleep in his dorm last night."

Ron grimaced, clearly not wanting to be drawn into the discussion.

"Perhaps we should summon Professor Snape. Minerva, would you be so kind?"

When Snape pushed his way into Dumbledore's office a few minutes later, he looked annoyed and harried. If she hadn't known it to be impossible, Hermione would have thought Snape had been drinking. His hair was greasier than usual and pushed away from his forehead as if he'd been running his hands through it for hours; his eyes didn't look quite right; and she thought she caught a whiff of something vaguely alcoholic and . . . sweet.

"What's all the uproar? I was just about to resume working on that special potion, Headmaster. I do not appreciate being interrupted."

"Thank you for joining us, Severus," Dumbledore began, "Harry Potter seems to be missing."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. If he's missing, which I doubt, he's only been gone for a handful of hours."

"What do you mean, Severus?" Albus asked.

"Headmaster, why are these two here?" Snape looked disdainfully at Hermione and Ron.

"They're here because they were the ones to realise Harry was missing."

"I don't think we should discuss this in front of them. They might be . . . needlessly worried." Snape made it very clear that worrying them didn't matter to him in the least, he merely wanted them gone.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed.

McGonagall looked at the students. "Professor Snape is quite right. You should go back to Gryffindor Tower. If there's any news, I'll make sure you know about it."

"But Professor!" Hermione and Ron complained together.

"Good day, and try not to worry." McGonagall clearly would brook no disobedience.

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore said as the door closed behind the two students, "why do you say only a handful of hours? Miss Granger and Mr Weasley indicated they hadn't seen Harry for at least eighteen hours and that he hadn't slept in his bed last night."

"I saw him earlier this morning."

"You did? Where? What time?" McGonagall demanded.

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore asked.

"Before dawn," Snape admitted. "I awoke quite early this morning and I saw someone moving around on the grounds in the dark. Naturally, I went to investigate. Of course it was Potter. What other student would have the temerity to break curfew?"

"There's something you're leaving out."

Snape glared at Dumbledore. "Fine. Potter and I seemed to reach an accord for a moment. I took the opportunity to tell him I was interested in pursuing something beyond teacher/student."

McGonagall put her hand to her forehead and raised her eyes to heaven. "Severus, you didn't! You ass! He's sixteen years old; you probably scared him half to death!"

"Surely sixteen is old enough to hear a simple declaration of interest?"

"Possibly, although with young Potter it would be a near thing in any case, but after six years of bitter enmity you can't think the very first remotely decent thing you've ever said to him . . ."

"Don't be melodramatic, Minerva. It's not as if I routinely abuse the boy."

Both McGonagall and Dumbledore looked taken aback. Albus was the first to recover and his eyes shone with mirth.

"Of course not, Severus. Well, if Harry has only been missing four, maybe five hours perhaps we needn't be too worried just yet."

"But Headmaster," Snape contrarily protested, "for the last several hours I've had this feeling --"

Minerva turned to Albus and smiled widely before saying to Snape, "You had a feeling about Mr Potter?"

"Shut it, you old . . .!"

"It might be a good idea to get a search party together." Minerva said, still smiling.

Snape glared at her. "Albus, I might have an idea where Potter's hiding. Give me one hour before you do whatever it is you, or Minerva, think you should do."

"I was going to suggest that very thing, Severus. That you go out and look for him."

Snape reminded himself that Dumbledore was old and slapping him might not be the wisest course of action. He nodded curtly to the Headmaster and his colleague. "I'll be back within the hour."

>>>>

Snape wasn't sure why he thought he could find Potter. He realised he actually knew very little about the boy; not much beyond what could be gleaned from the Daily Prophet. It certainly wasn't as if they shared a bond. The last time Snape had seen Potter, the ninny had been hurrying away as fast as his short little legs could take him.

Potter had been standing near the Whomping Willow. The Whomping Willow had been planted over the tunnel entrance to the Shrieking Shack. Really, he wondered why Muggles made such a to-do about detective stories. It was elementary, once you simply applied your mind to it.

Snape's mind was curiously torpid as he left the castle and crossed the grounds to the Whomping Willow. Some small voice, which he was ignoring, told him he should think about what he would do and say if he found Potter. Mostly the refrain, "Potter's in trouble," kept repeating in his head. Without breaking step, he swiftly stooped and picked up a long stick lying on the ground; he would need it to push the knot on the Whomping Willow that would allow him entrance to the tunnel mouth.

As Snape approached the guardian tree it began to move as if in a high wind; its branches flailing back and forth wildly, prepared to club anything that came close. Snape leant forward as far as he could and thrust his stick at the knot. Damn! Not quite long enough. He looked at the tree's violently waving branches, assessing his chances. Waiting until the nearest branch took an upswing, he darted forward and touched stick to knot just as the branch came whistling down and cracked him fiercely across the arse. Snape dropped face down and slithered snakelike into the gap between the roots, his arse throbbing. If Potter was in the Shrieking Shack, Snape was going to kill him. If Potter wasn't in the Shrieking Shack, Snape was going to kill him.

"Insolent, infuriating, spoiled brat!" Snape snarled as he slid down the slope into the tunnel. "Always getting into trouble. Always expecting someone to rescue him. Well, you can just kiss my arse, Potter." Which, now that he thought about it, just might make his arse feel better.

Snape held his wand out and muttered, "_Lumos!_" through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, the tunnel had got no larger in the three years since he had last entered it. Snape put his wand between his teeth and scrambled forward, almost on hands and knees. Why they couldn't have dug deeper and made a tunnel an adult could stand up in was beyond his ken.

On and on he crawled until at last he saw the dim light that indicated the Shrieking Shack was just ahead. Hurrying a bit more, desperate to stand up and relieve the crick that threatened to cripple his lower back, Snape pulled himself through the hole at the end of the tunnel and heaved his body into the Shack. His breath caught in his chest. Potter lay in the far corner of the room, sprawled out and unmoving, very pale in the dim blue light from Snape's wand.

"Dear God, don't let him be dead," Snape whispered, and fear-tinged bile rose in his throat. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips, fighting back a wave of nausea.

Cursing himself for his weakness, Snape stood and brightening the glow from his wand, strode over to the corner. "Potter! POTTER, YOU IMBECILE!" Snape's hand went to his own throat, his voice had come out rather higher pitched than usual. "POTTER!" He roared and almost collapsed in relief when Harry stirred.

"You are the most _arrogant_, self-centred, melodramatic, over-bearing little monster!" Snape heard a dim echo of McGonagall's voice, _"how often it is what we most despise in other people are those faults we share with them."_ He shook his head irritably. As soon as he was done killing Potter, he would tend to McGonagall.

"You've had half the school sick with worry, Potter. Does that please you? Does it make you feel important?"

Harry lifted his head wearily from where it rested on his folded arms and peered up at Snape; his green eyes looking more vivid than usual without his glasses. "Snape?"

"O bra-vo, Mr Potter. Your superior intelligence and keen perception once more make themselves apparent. YES, IT'S ME, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT!"

"Professor, why are you yelling at me?" Harry asked sleepily.

It was a fair question, but Snape wasn't about to tell Potter that he had been worried sick. "Because you've frightened your friends and got the Headmaster concerned for your safety. Because you disappeared without a word to anybody. Because you --"

"I didn't _disappear_!" Harry exclaimed. "And I don't have to tell everybody my every move. It's Saturday. I have no classes. I have no plans. I just wanted to be by myself for a bit. WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR EVERYONE TO UNDERSTAND?"

"As much as it pains me to say," Snape hissed, "you're extremely important to numerous people. You can't just indulge in an orgy of self-pity without consideration of anyone else." Snape looked down at Potter's silently moving lips. "What are you _doing_?"

"Trying to count the number of esses in what you were saying."

Snape looked blankly at Potter for a moment and then, to his utter horror, he laughed. Worse, so did Potter.

"I really wasn't trying to worry people. Never occurred to me they would. I wasn't missing. I knew where I was; and it's early yet," Harry said quietly.

Without allowing himself to think, Snape put his back against the wall and slid down until he was seated near Potter's head. "You can't just do that, you insufferable, unthinking dolt. It's not acceptable. You at least have to tell someone where you're going."

"Why? I'm not a child!"

"If you have to ask why, then you _are_ a child. Like it or not you're a valuable commodity to both sides of this little war."

"I'm fucking tired of being a _commodity_."

It occurred to Snape to say 'language' and take points, but he didn't. "Yes, I imagine you'd be tired of a great many things."

Harry's mouth fell open but he didn't say anything. For awhile, neither did Snape.

"What's bothering you, Potter?"

"Other than the fact that you're being suspiciously nice to me?"

"Was I being nice to you? How appalling. Trust me, it won't happen again."

Harry grinned very tentatively. Sighing deeply, he sat up and scooted back a little, putting more distance between himself and Snape. "I just needed time by myself," he repeated.

"Is it Black?" Snape's muscles tensed, prepared for an outburst that didn't come.

"It's Sirius and everybody else who's died. It's because I'm expected to kill Voldemort, er sorry, the Dark Lord, and I don't have any idea how to go about it, and nobody understands what it's like; there's no one I can talk to. Everybody expects me to be brave and cheerful, or brave and surly, or brave and whatever else. I'm not brave. I'm scared. And you didn't exactly help matters."

"You're trying to blame this on me?" Typical of the brat.

"I'm not saying you're responsible for everything, okay? I _know_ Sirius's death wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. It's my fault. I know that. It was my fault and I can't fix it."

"It's not your fault, Potter." Of course it was, and it was about time the harebrained hero admitted it.

"It is my fault. All I do is cause trouble. The wizarding world wants a hero but all they've got is a very scared Harry Potter. I'm no good to anyone. I can't do this. I can't live with having to kill Voldemort. I can't live up to everybody's expectations. I'm nobody's hero. I'd be better off back at the Dursley's because I'm just going to fuck everything up."

"You're feeling sorry for yourself."

"DAMN RIGHT I'M FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF! I'm in the middle of a hopeless situation. Everybody expects something of me. Everybody expects me to be something I'm not. I can't do this! I can't! Dumbledore needs to find somebody else. Why can't he be the one to assassinate Voldemort? At least he's had practice!"

"That was extremely ill-said, Potter. The Headmaster is not a murderer."

"No, but I'm supposed to be one, is that what you're saying? Well I won't! I can't! I haven't got what it takes!"

"No, you don't. And hiding away, or running away, won't give you what it takes. You have to face up to your responsibilities and stop behaving like a spoiled brat!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Now Snape did say it. "Language, Potter."

Harry snorted in disbelief and Snape couldn't blame him really. Given the subject matter, given the expectations the world had of the boy, a little profanity was more than reasonable.

"Why did you say what you did this morning?" Harry gave Snape a considering look.

"Why did I say what?"

"Don't play with me, _Professor_. I was there too, remember?"

Snape fought to keep from rolling his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "I said I'd like to see if we could become more than teacher and student."

Harry let out a long, exasperated breath. "I know _what_ you said. I want to know _why_ you said it."

"I should think_ why_ would be apparent, Mr Potter."

"But you hate me."

_Yes, I do_, _I really do, or at least I should, _Snape thought. "I don't like you very much, it's true."

Harry let out a wounded huff and smiled bitterly. "So then why do you want something more?"

"You're an attractive boy, Potter."

"So that's why? Doesn't matter if you despise me as long as I'm good looking, which I'm not by the way, so you might want to fix your story. Well, it's not going to happen, Snape. So find yourself another toy."

Snape's laughter snorted out his nose. "Think a lot of yourself, do you? I don't need a toy. I need a man."

Harry paled and then his cheeks burned an angry red. "Look, I don't know what this is about. I'm not sure I want to know. You're either having me on for reasons I can't begin to understand, or you're telling the truth, which is impossible. Ron thinks it's one of Voldemort's plots."

"You've discussed this with Weasley Number Six?"

"Yeah, and Hermione too. Why wouldn't I? You've been acting very strange for the last few months. Do you think no one's noticed? It doesn't matter. I'm straight. I like girls. I like them a lot, actually. I'm not interested in other boys, or men. Um, so if you're serious, then it wouldn't work. And if you're not serious, well then, to hell with you!"

"Language, Potter."

"Look, why don't you do us both a favour and expel me, right now. Say you caught me drinking, or something. I won't contradict you."

"Don't tempt me," Snape said under his breath. "I am not going to expel you, and as much as I'd _love_ to have this little tete-a-tete with you right now, I promised the Headmaster I'd be back in an hour, else he can loose the dogs of war."

"Loose the dogs of war?"

"I imagine he'll have the whole Order here if I'm five minutes late."

"Looking for me?"

"Mmm."

"I am special, aren't I? Oz the Great and Terrible." Harry grinned tiredly.

Snape rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. If any wizard ever deserved to be sanctified, it was himself. "Get up, you conceited blockhead" he said. "The Headmaster wants to see you."

>>>>

Snape pushed Harry roughly through the door to Dumbledore's office. McGonagall jumped to her feet and then put her hand on the arm of her chair to steady herself as she swayed in evident relief. She pressed her other hand to her chest. "Harry!"

Dumbledore came slowly out from behind his desk and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you're well, Harry. You gave some of us quite a fright."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Harry said somewhat sullenly. "I just wanted some time to myself. I didn't mean to worry anyone."

"That's understandable, Harry. I do wish you'd let someone know when you're going off, and I have to insist once more that you do not leave the castle walls during curfew. We're doing our best to protect you."

"I wish you wouldn't," Harry said under his breath.

"Minerva, I believe you promised Miss Granger and Mr Weasley that you'd inform them when Harry was found. Perhaps you should go do that now."

McGonagall didn't look happy but merely said, "Certainly, Headmaster," and turned and left the room.

"Severus, you had a potion you were working on?"

"Having been interrupted for this long, it will do no harm to sit awhile longer."

"I would like to speak to Harry alone."

"Headmaster, he must be punished! He was out after curfew. He's caused untold worry and wasted time. Surely you're not, once again, letting him off without consequences?" Snape was clearly outraged.

"I would like to speak to Harry alone, Severus. This is not a request."

"Once again the little princeling wreaks havoc and gets off scot free!"

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore snapped, "I'll not ask you again!"

"Very well, Headmaster. But the next time Potter gets in trouble, don't expect me to do anything about it!"

Only the magical properties of Dumbledore's office door kept it from slamming in Snape's wake.

>>>>

Snape was standing by the gargoyle when Harry descended from the Headmaster's office. The boy darted a quick look at Snape and then just as quickly looked away, cheeks flushing. Before Snape could say anything, Potter darted away and Snape was left staring at his retreating back. Now what was that about?

"Flounder," Snape said with a moue of disgust. It was a shame that Every Flavour Beans were every flavour. It would be a long time before Albus ran out of this particular batch of stupid passwords.

"Come in, Severus. I had a feeling you'd be joining me again," Dumbledore said, standing in the open doorway of his office. "Come into my room, will you? It's been a very taxing day and I need to lie down." A dry cough rattled in his chest.

Once in Albus's room, after helping the Headmaster remove his slippers and pull his legs under the covers, Snape paced relentlessly, brow furrowed, and something very like a sneer twisted his lips as he muttered softly. Dumbledore was breathing laboriously, looking very tired and more than a little irate.

"Severus, stop it. Castigating yourself does no one any good."

Snape whirled, his sneer now firmly fixed. "I am not castigating _myself_, Headmaster. _I_ am not at fault here. I am not the one with the power to ease Potter's worries and self-loathing. _You_ are the one best qualified to help him, and you do nothing! I don't understand why you won't talk to him."

"I haven't had the privilege of being in your head for the last thirty minutes. What would you have me talk to him about that I haven't?"

"You're being disingenuous. Although why that should surprise me after all these years --"

"Don't be insulting, Severus!" Albus snapped. "Just tell me what it is you think I should have said to the boy that I haven't."

"Fine, Headmaster. I'll play your little game one more time. Who else better suited to help Harry deal with his fears about dealing with the Dark Lord? Who better to train him, at least mentally, for what he'll need to withstand the battle and come out the other side at least alive if not unharmed? Who else has experience of fighting one-to-one with a wizard of the Dark Lord's stature and skill?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Grindelwald."

"Of course, Grindelwald! The boy needs reassurance. He needs someone to talk to who will understand his fears. None of the rest of us have the experience you have. No one in our world shares that experience." Snape continued pacing, gesticulating wildly with his hands and arms as his passion for the subject seemed to increase.

"You claim to love the boy, Albus. To have nothing but his best interests at heart, and yet you won't help him in the one area where he truly needs help."

Dumbledore sighed again. "If I believed talking to him about my experience with Grindelwald would actually be of benefit, I would."

"How can it _not_ be of benefit?" Snape was nearly shouting.

"My experience was very different than Harry's. I was raised a wizard, knew the full measure of my powers; indeed I was at the height of my powers at the time. If I spoke to Harry about my time of trial, I would make it worse for him, he would _feel_ worse. He would judge his limitations more harshly. It is better to continue as we have been and pray he will not really be tested before he's ready."

"I don't understand how you can think that way!"

"Severus, calm down. You're agitating yourself needlessly."

"I will _not_ calm down! It's beginning to appear I'm the only one who cares for the boy, and isn't that a shameful thought!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled maddeningly. "At last you admit you care for him."

"I admit nothing of the sort! I was speaking ironically."

"It seems a shame for you to be planning on allying yourself permanently with someone you care nothing for."

"Don't change the subject."

"As the subject is Mr Potter, you can hardly accuse me of changing it."

"The subject is not Potter, per se. Damn it, Albus! You do this to me every time. I won't stand for it."

"I find your manner most irritating."

"Good."

"Severus." The warning in Dumbledore's voice could not have been clearer.

Snape was reminded why it was that he generally did everything the Headmaster asked, no matter what the cost. The reminder didn't make him happy, but it did keep him silent.

"I'm pleased you've begun to care for the lad. Don't make the mistake of thinking that now you do, no one else does. I have been caring for Mr Potter his whole life."

"If you care for him, then speak to him, Albus. He's desperate."

"These are desperate times."

"I'm not saying don't use him; I know you must. I just don't think you're being as careful with him as you ought."

"That's almost amusing coming from you."

"Talk to him. Let him know how much you understand."

"I honestly believe it will do more harm than good."

Snape sank into a chair by Dumbledore's bedside and cradled his head in his hands. He _did_ care for Potter. It was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. Albus was wrong and Snape didn't know how to make him see it.

"Albus, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I wish you were half so kind to Potter. I know you want to see me protected when you're gone and that means more to me than I could ever begin to tell you, but my pursuit of Potter is just going to make his life more difficult. I can't continue. Minerva's right. He's only sixteen. This isn't even appropriate, and you know it. I'm his teacher. No matter what the perceived danger to myself, I can't burden the boy with one more thing."

"Appropriateness doesn't enter into, Severus. I would see you safe."

"How can you even say that? Of course appropriateness enters into it. I'm not a very good man, but even _I_ can see that putting my own selfish interests ahead of Potter's is not right."

"As much as you need a protector, Severus, Harry needs someone who will love him and care for him when I'm gone."

"Perhaps that's true. It can be accomplished in other ways. I'm no one's idea of a father-figure, but I will do my best by the boy when the time comes, I always have."

"Yes, you have, and Harry needs more than a father-figure. He needs a family, a confidant, someone who understands him. That someone is you. I've said it before, you have more in common than you think. Don't throw it away in some misguided attempt to spare him further grief."

Snape wanted to argue. What Albus was saying was absurd; but the old man's stertorous breathing and the fluttering of his eyelids, told Snape that their conversation was over for now.

"Sleep, Albus. We can continue this some other time." Snape said with a magnanimity he was far from feeling.

TBC

Coming up next: **Chapter 9: Delving One Yard Below;** _In which everybody digs at Harry and Snape is skewered with his own weapon._

_

* * *

_**Thanks** to everyone who's read and especially to everyone who's reviewedIt's very much appreciated._  
_


	9. Delving One Yard Below

**Chapter 9: Delving One Yard Below**  
In which everybody digs at Harry and Snape is skewered with his own weapon.

_"Let it work;  
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer  
Hoist with his own petard; and it shall go hard  
But I will delve one yard below their mines.  
And blow them at the moon."_  
-- Wm. Shakespeare: _Hamlet, iii. 4._

_

* * *

_

The look on Draco Malfoy's face when Harry walked back into Potions class on Monday morning was priceless. Really, it was the best thing that had happened to Harry all year. A number of people began whispering to each other, looking at Harry and then quickly glancing away. Even his fellow Gryffindors were shocked. He had said nothing about his altercation with Snape immediately after it happened, and he had said nothing since. He hadn't even said anything to Hermione and Ron, and he was very grateful that they hadn't tried to pry anything out of him.

The classroom door slammed opened and a clearly irate Snape stalked to the front of the class, roaring, "SILENCE! This is a classroom, not a quidditch pitch. Potter, two points for wearing again Muggle clothing to my classroom. You will at least dress like a wizard, even if I can't make you act like one.

"Your instructions are on the board. There will be no talking. Miss Granger, Mr Goyle, trade places."

Harry groaned.

"Two points, Mr Potter. Your feeble-minded opinions have no place in my classroom."

Harry's mouth opened and then snapped shut. Why was Snape on him? What happened to 'something better than enemies'? Bastard.

Ron leant over and whispered, "Lover's quarrel?"

Harry paled with shock but was saved from having to say anything by, of all people, Snape.

"I SAID 'SILENCE!'" Snape screamed. "Weasley, trade places with Parkinson."

Ron's freckles stood out in stark relief as most of the blood drained from his face. He gathered up his things, flashed a glance at Harry, and then stalked across the room and took his place next to Vincent Crabbe. He looked over at Hermione who was now partnered with a smirking Malfoy. Malfoy whispered something to Hermione that made her jaw tighten.

"Five points, Mr Malfoy. I would expect people in my house to accord me more respect in my classroom. I said 'silence', did I not, Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes, Professor. I was just asking Miss Granger–"

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. "Detention, Mr Malfoy. With Mr Filch, this evening. Don't look like that. I _did_ warn you."

Harry wondered what was going on in Snape's head. Four points from Harry, but _five_ points from Malfoy. And a detention with Filch! Harry only barely stopped himself from pumping his fist in the air. Still, there was nothing at all friendly in Snape's demeanour.

"As I said, your instructions are on the board. I expect absolute silence until such point as it is absolutely necessary to inform me that Mr Longbottom's cauldron is about to explode."

* * *

Snape sat down behind his desk, grateful to see the last of the day's worth of dunderheads, and put his head in his hands; fingers scratching at his scalp, just itching to wrap themselves around Potter's scrawny neck.

With a sigh, he stood up. Monday staff meeting in five minutes, and wasn't _that_ going to be a treat.

Snape was the last to arrive. Minerva smiled broadly at him and he scowled in response.

Hagrid stood up, grinning happily, and for a moment Snape was terrified he was about to be hugged, but Hagrid only gave him a clout on the back that made his knees buckle, and said, "I knew there were a heart in there somewhere."

Snape poured himself a cup of tea with shaky hands and sank gratefully into his preferred chair, refusing to make eye-contact with anybody.

Flitwick approached him cheerfully. "I hear you've accepted Potter back in your classroom without an apology, Severus. Frankly, I was quite surprised."

"What goes on in my classroom and how I choose to mete out discipline, are none of your business."

"You must be joking," Professor Hooch chortled, "_you_ let Harry Potter back into your classroom without an apology?"

Snape's ears burnt as if he'd just swallowed a double dose of Pepper-Up. He should just tell them the truth and be done with it. But somehow, he felt he couldn't do that to Potter. Let the boy bask for the moment, he had a hard enough time. Snape thought he might be sick. He couldn't possibly be feeling this way.

"I suppose the Headmaster requested it of you?"

"No, Filius. Fine! Yes. Albus asked me to take Potter back into my class and I have. Are you satisfied?"

Minerva gave him a knowing look and smiled again. "Sooner started, sooner ended. What's our first order of business?"

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione wandered across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. Spring had finally arrived, almost six weeks late. Tiny flowers popped up out of the grass and larger ones danced rings around the trees. The breeze was pleasant, the sun was shining, there was only a little more than a month before school let out, and Harry was miserable.

"Would you please stop sighing and tell us what's wrong? You've been moping around for weeks." Hermione asked.

"I have _not_ been moping."

"You have, you know," Ron said. "We thought if we left you alone –" Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron amended what he was saying, "_Hermione_ thought if we left you alone you'd eventually come to us. _I_ thought we should just sit on you until you confessed." He gave Hermione a superior sort of grin. "Looks like we should have done it my way after all. I tried to tell you it was different for us guys."

Hermione tilted her head and looked at Ron from under her furrowed eyebrows. "Fine. You were right. I was wrong. Are you happy now?"

A soft, "Uh oh," was Ron's only response.

"So, Harry," Hermione said archly, "tell us what's been bothering you."

Harry sighed again and then shook his head. There was no hope for it. He'd finally admitted he had apologized to Snape, although he hadn't wanted to; it had been too tempting to enjoy the cheers and congratulations of his classmates, who had for some reason assumed Snape had been the one to give in. But he'd held off telling Ron and Hermione about what was really bothering him, and if he couldn't tell the two of them -- his best friends -- then he really was alone, and he couldn't bear that thought.

Harry sighed, searching for the words for everything that had been spinning around in his brain for months. He stopped walking and stared out over the grounds as if the answer could be found outside of himself.

"Do you know what I'm afraid of?"

"We could probably guess some of it, but why don't you tell us," Hermione coaxed.

"That I really am like the Wizard of Oz. That one of these days, Voldemort and the Death Eaters are going to pull back the curtain and discover there's nothing behind it but one ignorant boy."

"Oh, Harry, don't. You really are a great wizard."

"No I'm not. You're loads better than I am at almost everything. So's Malfoy for that matter."

"Would someone care to explain what we're talking about?" Ron asked grumpily.

Hermione glanced at him and smiled. "Sometimes I forget you're not a Muggle."

"Don't know whether to feel smug or insulted."

Harry laughed. "Well, if Malfoy or Snape said it, it would be an insult. Coming from Hermione, it's a complement. I think."

"It's neither," Hermione said primly. "It's just a statement of fact. Sometimes I actually do forget that Ron doesn't have the same reference points you and I have. It's no different than when a pureblood doesn't comprehend how someone could never have heard of Quidditch."

"No lecture," Ron begged, "just explain what you're talking about, please? I'd like to stay up with the conversation."

"There's a famous Muggle book called "The Wizard of Oz". A movie was made of it. The story's too complex to tell it all right now, but basically it's about a girl from Kansas..."

"What's Kansas?"

"Hermione, let me tell it, or we'll be here all day."

"Fine." Hermione made a disgusted noise and looked away, arms crossed.

"All you need to know, Ron, is that there's a man everybody thinks is a great and powerful wizard but it turns out he's a fake."

"And you're afraid you're a fake?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know I'm really a wizard, but everyone has these expectations about how I'm going to be the greatest wizard of the age and I'm going to destroy Voldemort and everything. But what if it turns out I'm just a boy? A wizard, but just an ordinary one? I don't feel like the greatest wizard of the age; I just feel like Harry, a trouble-maker that slacks off on his schoolwork."

"But you're always saying you are the greatest wizard of the age."

"And you believe everything I say?"

"Of course," Ron said stoutly, "you're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived."

"Liar." Harry laughed.

"Well, yeah, I am a bit. Because, you know, you're my mate, and it's hard to think of your best friend as something out of the ordinary, but you're really good at magic, Harry. Better than me, that's for sure. I know we cut-up and screw off on doing our work, but you've got some kind of, what's the word? innate talent."

"Yeah, right."

"Seriously, Harry. Look, I never could have conjured a Patronus third year, no matter how much private tutoring I had."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can cast Patronus now."

"Yes, but Harry, don't you see," Hermione burst in excitedly, "we didn't learn to cast Patronus until fifth year, and you taught us, and we don't even know if we could cast one when we really needed to."

"So?"

"There are plenty of adult wizards and witches who can't cast one, but your power is such that you not only learned to cast one at thirteen, you fairly easily taught a bunch of teenagers to cast it. You have real talent, Harry."

"Well, maybe," Harry still sounded unsure. "Maybe I'm worrying over nothing, but what if I'm not?"

"All you can do is keep training. You'll be ready when the time comes. I just know you will."

"We'd better hope, or we're all doomed." Harry frowned and looked morosely down at his feet.

"What else is bothering you?"

Harry looked at his friends from the corner of his eye. There were some things he really wasn't sure he could talk about; admitting he was afraid had been hard enough.

"Come on, out with it," Ron said.

"Three guesses, the first two don't count," Harry said, trying to make a joke of it and failing.

"Stop. Right here." Hermione ordered. "We'll sit down here and talk. You obviously haven't told us everything."

Hermione's superiority was very annoying, but she was right, he hadn't told them everything and this thing with Snape had been eating at him. Still, he tried to stave off the inevitable: "We've got to feed Fang."

"Fang will not starve if we're 30 minutes late."

"No," Ron laughed, "but he might help himself to a chair. Hagrid won't be half angry."

"Hagrid," Hermione said repressively, "will probably think it was cute. Spread your cloak out, Ron, would you?"

"Yes, dear," Ron said.

Harry laughed and Hermione didn't. "That was funny the first two hundred times you said it, Bilius, but it's not funny any longer."

Ron scowled at the use of his middle name and then laughed. "Harry still thinks it's funny. You have no sense of humour."

"As I recall, you don't like it very much when I'm not speaking to you."

Ron opened his mouth to retort but Harry cut him off. He was very, very tired of their bickering. "Can you two just not? Not right now." He smiled. " I don't know much about girls, Ron, but I know if it were me, I'd prefer to be treated like a lady."

Ron laughed.

"Spread your cloak. You were the only one dim enough to carry one on a day like this." Harry said.

"I'll be the only one dim enough to sit on it if you don't shut it," Ron said amiably as he spread his cloak out and the three of them sat down. "Now, what's _really_ eating you, mate?"

"Snape told me he was interested in me," Harry said flatly.

Ron exhaled sharply and fell over backwards, both hands pressed to his forehead.

"When, Harry?" Hermione gasped.

"The day before everyone thought I disappeared."

"Is that why you disappeared?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "Don't be daft." He sighed. "Well, yes, that was part of it. But only part," he added in a hurry. "It was that and everything else. The debacle at the Ministry."

Harry couldn't say, "Since Sirius died." He couldn't even think it. 'The debacle at the Ministry' was his euphemism for everything. His Voldemort-given dreams, Sirius's death, the prophecy, Sirius's death.

"I don't understand why Dumbledore won't get us a decent Defence teacher," Ron said.

"Ron, stay on topic, can't you?"

"He _is_ on topic, Hermione. That's part of it. I'm supposed to kill Voldemort and I proved at the Ministry that I'm nothing more than a stupid kid. I need to learn Defence. The DA is all very well, but I need to learn more. I need to learn everything."

"That's _not_ the topic, Harry. The topic is Snape telling you he was interested in you."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, _that_. What did he say? What did you say? Are you going to tell Dumbledore? How's he been since he told you?"

"Whoa! Slow down. One question at a time, Hermione," Ron scolded.

"He said he was interested. I said he was crazy. I ran away. Dumbledore knows. And Snape's been a complete bastard since - as you both know, so I don't know why you bothered to ask - but he hasn't taken very many points, and he hasn't given me detention. I've barely spoken to him since."

"You told Snape he was crazy?" Ron asked, sitting up and doubling over with laughter.

Harry loosed a half-smile. "I told him I didn't even know if it was legal."

"Why wouldn't it be legal?" Ron asked.

"Teacher student isn't acceptable in the Muggle world, and Harry's not at the age of consent yet."

"What's 'age of consent'?"

"Seventeen. Eighteen. I don't remember," Harry said. "I was only ten my last year of Muggle school. We hadn't got that far yet.

"I didn't mean what's the _age_, I meant what's the _age of consent_?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off. "That question wasn't clear at all, Ron, but," she turned to Harry, "he doesn't know what the whole concept is. The wizarding world doesn't have an age of consent."

"No?" Harry asked at the same moment Ron said, "**What's** an 'age of consent'?"

"It means the age where a person is old enough to legally have sex."

Ron just looked blank.

"Nevermind, Ron. I'll explain it to you some other time. Just take it as given that in the Muggle world, there are laws about how old someone has to be before they can have sex with an adult, or an adult can have sex with them. And things are more stringent where the older person has authority over the younger person."

"Wizards don't have laws like that?" Harry asked.

"Well no, not exactly," Hermione sounded very exasperated. "Can we just talk about that part later?"

Harry shrugged but Ron insisted, "At least explain about the teacher/student thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "In the Muggle world, a teacher could use his authority to coerce a student who didn't want to have sex with him or her to do it or risk a bad grade or something."

"That's ridiculous!" Ron spouted. "The student would just tell someone."

"Well, we don't have all the same things to protect us," Harry said. "We don't have Veratiserum, we don't have pensieves, we don't have ways of _proving_ who's telling the truth unless there's more than one witness telling the same story; that doesn't happen often when people are having sex."

"Yeah we do, Harry." Ron was utterly confused. "We _have_ Veratiserum, we _have_ pensieves."

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron in confusion and then Harry laughed. "Uh, I meant Muggles. Muggles don't have Veritaserum or pensieves."

"Forgot again, did you, Oz?" Ron was gleeful.

"I hate it when I do that," Harry muttered.

"That was a very nice try at derailing the conversation, you two, but I, for one, haven't forgotten what we were discussing."

"Hermione," Harry said in exasperation.

"Harry," Hermione responded in the same tone. "You shouldn't have told Snape he was crazy. That was stupid. He must be livid."

"Think about it, Hermione. How would _you_ feel if any one of our professors said that to you? Any one of them, let alone Snape!"

Ron shuddered and even Hermione couldn't hide her discomfort. The three of them fell silent.

Eventually Harry said, "We should go feed Fang before he eats Hagrid's hut. Then I've got 'Remedial Potions."

"When did that start up again? You didn't tell us," Ron complained.

"Today. It starts again today." Harry answered miserably.

* * *

He knew it was a very bad idea to be late but dread made Harry's footsteps slow. He looked at every portrait in the corridors, touched every suit of armour. Occlumency. Snape looking into his mind again. On the whole, he'd rather face Voldemort.

But, there was no putting it off any longer. Dumbledore had insisted to both Harry and Snape that lessons be resumed, and, after a long delay, today was the day. Truthfully, a little piece of Harry was relieved - he was afraid to trust his dreams anymore, and the prickling in his scar was nearly constant - but he wished Dumbledore wasn't too sick to teach him himself. Oh God, he didn't want Snape in his head again.

"You're late, Potter," Snape snapped when Harry finally entered his office. "Which doesn't surprise me in the least. Your arrogance knows no bounds."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from hurling a retort. He looked at Snape's desk, noticing with surprise that there were two pensieves sitting on it. One he recognized; it was the Headmaster's, the same one he had loaned to Snape the year before. The second was new to him. It was beautiful and he felt drawn to it, in a completely different way than he had previously been drawn to Dumbledore's. He didn't know whose memories swirled inside it. He didn't care.

It was of a shiny, dark green stone, and though Harry couldn't see them clearly from that distance, he knew runes were carved all around the bowl.

"The Headmaster indicated I should give you a pensieve of your own. I will continue to use his. Although the pensieve is yours to keep, you will leave it in my office until you leave Hogwarts for good. You will not risk giving anyone the opportunity to have a look."

"No one but you, you mean."

Harry was shocked when Snape kept his temper. "You're being rude, Mr Potter. Two points from Gryffindor, and detention. An _actual_ detention this time. I've been too lax with you for too long. It's beginning to show."

"Detention's not the best place to take a guy on a date, Snape." Harry grinned.

"Do not let my having indicated my interest in you lull you into a false sense of familiarity. You will not mock me. _Legilimens!_"

Wrestling with Ron. . . Catching the snitch . . . 'I'm taken with you, Potter' . . . Lunging at Crookshanks to keep him from batting Trevor across the room . . . Sirius falling through the veil . . . The burrow, in Ron's room by himself imagining Bill Weasley while he. . .

"NO!" Harry screamed and cast the same stinging hex he had used the first time he had ever managed to repel Snape. He dropped his wand. He didn't want to go any further. He didn't want to know what was in Snape's head.

Snape cursed and grabbed his wrist, almost dropping his own wand in the process.

"Very good, Potter. Very quick."

Harry blinked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh do get over it, you simpleton. Yes, I complimented you. The Headmaster suggested it would be . . . _beneficial_." Snape grinned broadly. "That last thing, Weasley Number One, if I'm not mistaken. I'd recognize that . . . earring, anywhere."

Harry blinked again and then felt himself flush six different shades of red. Miraculously, Snape was not looking at him.

Snape spoke to the ceiling. "The serpentine pensieve, as I said, is yours to keep. I will not look in it. You don't need to store your memories in it when you're not here, although you may if you like. Of course, you're young and don't have as many things coursing through that thing you call your brain as an older person would, so you might not feel the need."

"Do you think it would ever be possible for you to say more than two sentences without insulting me?"

Snape thought about that. "I didn't insult you until the fourth sentence."

Harry laughed.

Snape continued sourly, "I suggest you store memories such as that last I caught a glimpse of. There are certain things I have no wish to see."

_Liar_, Harry thought.

"However, I would also suggest, that you not store every petty embarrassment in your pitiful life. We must, after all," Snape sneered, "leave you something worth exerting yourself over.

"The pensieves, _both_ of them, will be locked in a cupboard when not in use. You will _not_ have the opportunity again to invade my private thoughts, other than whatever success you have with Legilimency, which apparently you have some innate talent for. The cupboard has been spelled to unlock only when both of us are present. At the beginning of each lesson, we will take them from the cupboard, store whatever memories are necessary, and when we're done we will lock up the pensieves. Is that clear?"

"Believe me, I'm never looking in your pensieve again. I didn't much like what I saw the last time."

"Your insulting manner is becoming tedious."

"My insulting manner? No, that didn't come out right. Look, when I peeked in your pensieve, I didn't like what I saw of my father, all right? Happy? I'm sorry I looked in your damned pensieve, and _not_ just because I didn't like what I saw."

Snape was silent for a moment and then smiled thinly. "Yes, I suppose your father and Black didn't come off too well, did they?"

"Oh shut up," Harry said, without any real venom. He still felt guilty about looking in Snape's memories and even Snape's snarking wasn't enough to ameliorate that. Apologizing didn't seem to be enough either.

"I wish we could pretend it never happened," Harry sighed.

"No hope for that. What you did was unconscionable."

"I know. But I apologized, what else do you want?"

"Saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't change what you did."

"I KNOW!"

"Temper, Potter."

"Yeah, right, well, all I can do is say I'm sorry and assure you it won't ever happen again."

"Fine. We'll drop it for now. _Legilimens!_"

Images fleeted by so quickly, Harry wasn't even sure what they were. A voice in his head, sounding very much like Snape, was saying, _I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. . . You will find that similar powers are needed for this._

_No_, another voice said. _I don't want you to see anything._"

Suddenly, not even knowing how he did it, Harry _pushed_ and pale blue light soared from the tip of his fingers, enveloping Snape who staggered backwards as his wand flew out of his hand.

"Oh yeah, that's a good look for you," Harry said, laughing in triumph because _this_ time Snape was the one on all fours on his office floor.

TBC


	10. The Pusher Man

**Chapter 10: The Pusher Man**  
In which our hero turns manufacturer and the Trio are Gryffindors

_...the pusher is a monsterNot a natural man.  
The dealer for a nickel  
Goin to sell you lots of sweet dreams.  
Ah...but the pusher will ruin your body;  
Lord he'll leave your mind to scream.  
God Damn! The pusher.  
God Damn! God damn the pusher.  
I said God Damn! God damn the pusher man._  
–Hoyt Axton: _The Pusher_

> > > > >

Although he had had qualms in the beginning, there was no longer any doubt about it; life in a tower room was infinitely more pleasant than life in a dungeon. Infinitely more pleasurable and infinitely less invigorating. Snape had pulled his favourite armchair close to the wide-open window. His finger held his place between the covers of an ancient, heavy book and his eyes were closed. He was thinking, not sleeping; never mind the quiet snore that occasionally escaped his prominent nose. A soft breeze crept into his room and attempted to ruffle his hair.

A stronger gust brought a dance of red and white petals, and one of which hooked like a fish on Snape's great beak. A soft exhalation caused the scrap of red to flutter gently. A slightly more emphatic inhalation sucked it down over a wide nostril. Snape's nose twitched, and twitched again. He sneezed which, if he had been asleep would have woken him up. As he was not sleeping, it merely caused him to open his eyes. He took a deep breath and the red petal disappeared up his nose. He gagged.

Coughing, he looked around his room in wonder. Flashes of white and red frolicked in the stream of sunlight warming his floorboards. Floorboards. Wonderful, warm floorboards. Nothing at all like the icy damp stone that used to greet his feet every morning. And why the hell were there petals floating about annoyingly in his room? He pinched his lip. Ouch. He was definitely awake, not dreaming. Long, yellow-tipped fingers snatched at the air and he looked closely at his prize. Much like exceedingly fine parchment, but definitely unprocessed plant. Suddenly his eyes widened in fury!

Without even thinking about it he bellowed, "POTTER!" Striding over to the window, he stuck his head out and glowered at the appalling scene taking place between the ground and the third storey. His instincts had been right. The scarred brat chose that moment to swoop past Snape's window, bent low over his broom, robes trapped by his jet-stream and clinging sinuously to his . . .

"POTTER! WEASLEY! FINNEGAN! GRAN-ger?" Snape couldn't recall ever seeing Granger on a broom. The sight did not bring him any ease. He shook his head and glared down at the ground. " big LONGBOTTOM/big What are you doing with my POPPIES!" It really wasn't a question.

"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!" Snape roared.

Ah, yes, that got their attention.

Snape waved his wand and Potter's broom shot forward between his legs, racing off alone in the direction of the Forest. Snape's eyes glittered maliciously as he watched Potter tumble through the air, turning several exceedingly ungraceful somersaults. So tempting was the vision of Potter landing in a heap, Snape almost didn't cast a cushioning charm in time.

Pointing his wand at his own throat, Snape muttered, "_Sonorous!_ " although it was hardly necessary. "The rest of you will land instantly! Don't even think about running away. You Gryffindors," he sneered, "have gone too far this time! Stand there until I arrive."

Forty-seven seconds later, Snape was striding across the grounds towards the miscreants.

"What in the Devil's name do you imbeciles think you were doing? Those are opi– " Snape thought better of what he was going to say.

"Weasley, Finnegan, Longbottom, detention with Mr Filch tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. You'll be polishing floors until your fingers bleed."

Snape smiled with pleasure and then grabbed Potter by the ear. A few moments fumbling in Granger's great bush of hair and he had her ear between his thumb and forefinger as well. "If it's not clear, you two will be coming with me."

Up until that minute none of the Gryffindors had spoken or moved, but Snape's tug on Potter's ear seemed to open the floodgates. Weasley and Finnegan began to protest vehemently about their detention. Potter glared and struggled, wincing as Snape tightened his grip. Granger looked as if she were seriously contemplating stomping on his foot, but a lethal scowl in her direction nipped that in the bud. Longbottom, as might be expected, looked as if he'd like to run away, if only his legs hadn't been wobbling with terror.

"SILENCE! You three, report to Mr Filch immediately!" Snape glared.

"Leave Neville out of it," Harry begged, "he was trying to help."

"Longbottom's help," Snape sneered, "is little different than anyone else's attempt at wanton destruction. He had no business getting anywhere near my poppies! GO! NOW!" He roared at Weasley, Finnegan, and Longbottom, who had yet to depart.

Ron opened his mouth to protest again but Neville tugged on his sleeve and whispered, "Come on! Don't make it any worse!"

You, my little lovelies, come with me. Granger, bring the flats."

Hermione looked at Harry across Snape's chest and mouthed, "My little lovelies?" Harry just shrugged and then stumbled slightly as Snape treated him to another vicious yank on the ear. Hermione pulled her wand out of its sleeve and said, "_Mobilipapaver!_"

Snape gave her a black look and muttered, "Show-off."

It wasn't until they reached Snape's tower rooms that he let go their ears.

"I thought you lived in the dungeons," Harry said, looking around Snape's quarters with obvious curiosity. "Seems awfully bright in here."

"What is that supposed to mean, Potter?"

"Er, nothing. I just sort of assumed you'd prefer the dark." Harry bit his lip in an attempt to keep from grinning.

Snape's glance was withering and Harry's half-smile disappeared promptly.

"I assume you were the ringleader in that little display, Potter?"

"What? No! I was trying–"

"Shut up. I believe I'll let Miss Granger explain. Keep it short and to the point," he said shifting his attention to Hermione.

"The poppies were delivered to the Great Hall with no tag saying whom they were for. Some of the students were starting to pick the flowers. Neville stopped them."

"I'm impressed. Apparently you do understand conciseness, a skill which I wish you'd demonstrate in class. Your explanation seems to leave out a few things, such as broomsticks and reckless flying."

"Professor," Potter interrupted, "why are there flower petals all over your room? Hot da–"

"Don't say it! Don't even think it! Sit down, both of you!"

Snape himself sat down in the armchair by the window. Potter and Granger looked around the room and, seeing no more chairs, sank to the floor and looked up at Snape. For his part, Snape ignored them. He steepled his fingers and pressed his forefingers to the corners of his eyes.

He had known the opium was too be delivered today. He had been expecting a small, plainly wrapped parcel, not three flats of living plants. Damn Albus. Living plants meant he would have to extract the opium himself, a tedious task, and for a wizard more than a little dangerous. Opium was illegal in the wizarding world, not because it was a narcotic, but because it had strange and unpredictable effects on magic. It could strip a wizard of his powers entirely, or alter them so that any spells cast were strange and unpredictable. It also was a powerful soporific, a pain-killer, and a mood-altering substance. Quite dangerous, quite rightly prohibited. He wondered briefly how the Headmaster had managed to acquire them. No matter.

Snape didn't have time for the extraction process. He already had several delicate potions simmering in his lab, potions that required all his skill and concentration to complete successfully. He would need help. Slowly he pulled his hands away from his face and looked at the two students sitting quietly on his floor.

"Continue, Miss Granger. Please explain how broomsticks and flying daredevils became involved. Explain why all of you should not be expelled for your reckless behaviour."

Hermione glanced nervously at Harry who just gave her a small shrug. She looked at Snape and remained silent. Snape sighed in irritation.

"Gryffindors! Tell me the events that transpired. You will not be expelled. Weasley Number Six, Finnegan and Longbottom have already received their punishments. Telling me the truth will not make it worse for them. Ultimately, little damage was done, or I might not feel so generous. Your punishment, or escape from it, will depend on the truth, as will Mr Potter's."

"Neville thought the plants should go to Professor Sprout. He was afraid to carry one and leave the others, so he levitated all three flats."

"And you allowed that imbecile to get away with it, not knowing what the plants were or what effect the use of magic might have on them?"

Hermione looked very put out. "There's no student in this school that knows half as much as Neville when it comes to plants and their care!"

"Spare me your histrionics, and I said I wanted the truth."

"It is the truth," Harry spluttered. "You just have it in for Neville, and for no good reason!"

"Don't you dare speak to me in that tone, Potter. I have very good reason for doubting Longbottom's capabilities in any area. No other student in the history of Hogwarts has wreaked so much devastation, and I include Weasley Numbers Fourandfive in that."

Harry turned red in the face and looked as if he were about to start shouting. Hermione quickly continued her tale. "If Neville thought the plants could be moved magically, then we had no reason to doubt him, no matter what your view of him. Seamus thought it would be funny to get the flats away from him. He and Ron started a game of keep-away. The i acciod i their brooms. Neville was frantic."

"As well he should have been," Snape muttered.

Hermione gave him a black look and continued. "Harry and I thought we'd better put a stop to it. That's what we were doing when you saw us. We were just trying to get the poppies back from Ron and Seamus."

Snape looked from Hermione to Harry and back again as if trying to gauge the truth of Hermione's story. Finally, he nodded abruptly.

"Very well. The two of you shall go unpunished."

"What about Neville then?" Harry asked belligerently.

"Using that tone of voice will gain you nothing, and it won't hurt Longbottom to scrub floors. Perhaps the next he'll think twice about meddling in things that are none of his business."

"That's not fair!" Harry shouted.

"And your point would be?"

"If Neville hadn't _meddled _ there wouldn't be a flower left on those plants! Where would you get your opium from then, Snape?"

Snape's face changed from its usual sallow tone to bone-white. "How did you know?" He whispered.

Harry looked at Hermione and grinned. "Neville was right then."

"Papaver somniferum, opium poppies, illegal in most of the Muggle world and all of the wizarding world except a few of the smaller Chinese provinces."

Snape was surprised to hear nothing but curiosity in Granger's voice. He nodded at her and then fell silent again, and thankfully his two students seemed inclined to let him think. If he needed help, and he'd already admitted to himself that he did, Granger would be an excellent choice. However annoying her personality, she was the most capable young witch he'd ever taught. The only other student with similar talent in Potions was Draco Malfoy, and he was obviously out of the question. None of the Order members had any particular skill with brewing, and he certainly couldn't get outside help for such a delicate, and illegal, project.

Working with Granger would be trying in the extreme, but it would also give Snape an opportunity to become more comfortable with her, so that if things with Potter didn't work out – a scenario that seemed more likely every day – he just might be able to seduce her to his protectorship. Snape sighed. It wasn't a very good idea, but it was the only one he had at the moment and he couldn't count on the Dark Lord leaving him alone for very much longer. Creating a suitable potion could be critical to the war effort, and finding someone with whom he could ally himself was only slightly less important to him.

Taking a deep breath, Snape made his decision. It would have been better to discuss this with Albus, but he had taken a turn for the worse in the last month and Snape was loathe to bother him unnecessarily.

"Do you like Potions, Miss Granger? You're certainly skilled at making them."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other in shock.

"Y-Yes. I do. I think they're quite interesting."

"Have you thought about applying for an apprenticeship?"

"I haven't decided what I want to do when I leave Hogwarts. I had thought about going to uni, but I don't know what I want to study. There are so many possibilities and I–"

"Quite," Snape cut her off abruptly, suspecting she could go on for hours once she got started. "I think it's safe to say that were you to sit for a Potions NEWT tomorrow, you would achieve an outstanding. I'm not sure even Mr Malfoy could do as well."

Hermione blushed and looked bewildered.

"I am going to take the two of you into my confidence. Nobody else must know what we talk about, and that includes Weasley Number Six. If you can't agree to that, you should leave now."

"Right then," Harry said, standing up.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape snapped.

"Leaving. Ron can sometimes be a prat, and he behaved terribly today, but he's my friend and we've been through a lot together. I tell him everything eventually and I'm not comfortable with Hermione and I knowing something that he can't."

"Sit down! You've complained before that people keep things from you, and the first time someone tries to let you into their confidence you plan on bolting like a frightened rabbit? Where's that Gryffindor spirit?" It was plain from Snape's tone that 'spirit' had been substituted for 'idiocy'.

"I won't promise not to tell Ron. If you can't accept that, then I should leave. It's that simple."

"You are the most stubborn, thick-headed–"

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm still not making a promise I don't know I'll keep."

"Fine! You win! If you must tell Weasley, you must. Please at least swear him to secrecy, as if that will do any good."

"Don't you get down on Ron! He's a trustworthy as I am!"

"My point exactly," Snape sneered, but his heart wasn't in it.

"How's your scar?" Snape abruptly changed the subject.

"What?"

"That lightning shaped cicatrice on your forehead."

"What about it?"

Snape expelled a harsh breath through clenched teeth. "Does it hurt, you ninny?"

"Yeah, all the time now."

"I don't know whether or not the Headmaster has taken you into his confidence," it was clear exactly what Snape thought of that idea. "The Dark Lord has been having headaches. Bad ones. Headaches that so far have withstood all my ameliorative attempts. It makes him irritable."

"I knew he was ticked off about something."

"The poppies!" Hermione said excitedly.

Harry looked at her questioningly.

"Exactly," Snape said.

"Won't he be able to tell?"

"I think not. Opium has been illegal for 4000 years. I doubt he has any familiarity with it, not that its illegality would stop him, but knowledge of any magical uses has long since faded away. Even the most esoteric texts only refer to it obliquely. It's a risk, but a calculated one."

"Would someone please tell me what we're talking about?"

"Miss Granger? Let's see if you're as intuitive as you think you are. Explain your deductions to Potter."

"Opium is a painkiller and a sedative. It also can produce a sense of well-being. It's addictive, and highly illegal in the wizarding world as it can interfere with magic in unpredictable ways, although it's not understood why. That's all I know about it, except in _Hogwarts: A History_ it says–"

Harry held up a hand. "Don't start with _Hogwarts: A History_ or we'll be here all day." His smile took the sting out of his words.

Snape heaved a sigh of relief. Obviously Potter was used to dealing with her propensity towards lecturing. Apparently the boy had more patience than one would credit, although you could never prove it by Snape's personal experience.

"Very good, Miss Granger." The thought that he would rather have sneered condescendingly at her than compliment her, flitted through Snape's mind. There was a damn good reason he had never married or formed any lasting arrangement with anybody. Humans were mostly intolerable, students more so, and Granger most of all. Except of course for Potter. Except lately he wasn't finding Potter quite so intolerable.

Snape was torn. He saw no possible way to rectify his failed efforts with Potter, but the thought of being even _socially_ intimate with Granger was enough to make even a grown man quail, and deep inside Snape knew he hardly qualified. He had to become friendly with her just in case, but he promised himself he would redouble his efforts with Potter. The boy didn't talk half so much. Even if what he did say was mostly drivel, it was compensated for by a good-nature and a luscious . . .

"Normally apprenticeships do not start until a student has completed their Hogwarts education, but I would be willing to consider making an exception in your case. I don't expect your answer now. It's too late to start anything this year anyway. Think about it over your summer holidays. If you decide to accept, owl me at the end of the summer. I will discuss it with the Headmaster and your Head of House."

"Are you offering me an apprenticeship?"

"That is the sort of response I would have expected from Potter. Yes, you drooling idiot! I'm offering you an apprenticeship!"

"Thank you," Hermione said primly. "I will think about it, and I'll let you know."

Any reasonable student, Malfoy for instance, would have been kissing the hem of Snape's robes. It was an unheard of honour to be offered an apprenticeship in Potions at Hermione Granger's age. The girl had no appropriate sentiment of gratitude.

"In the meantime," Snape said through gritted teeth, "I am working on a potion for the Dark Lord's headaches. I had thought to experiment with the opium, hoping to create something that would ease his head while stifling his magic. I'm working on several bases right now. They are delicate and quite time consuming. Had the opium arrived already processed, the situation might be different. I don't have the luxury of time. I'll need assistance."

The two students looked at each other, clearly expecting something more. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, Potter said, "Are you asking us to help you?"

"These poppies will obviously yield a high grade of opium, just being in the same room with the flowers has addled your wits! Both of you! Yes, Potter," Snape gritted his teeth again, "I am asking for your assistance. Forgive me for not making that clear."

There was another pause.

"That's it?" Harry asked. "You're not going to go on for five minutes about what complete dunderheads we are?" His face was the picture of innocence.

Snape's mouth twitched and the ugly vein in his temple began to throb. "Don't push it, Potter."

"Yeah, we'll help. Or at least I will."

"Miss Granger must agree as well, or the offer is rescinded."

Snape expected Harry to explode any second, but the impertinent little twit just laughed. "So, no help is better than my help alone?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Snape looked at Hermione. "Miss Granger?"

"It'll be quite dangerous."

Potter's eyes lit up. Snape's rolled.

"Yes, but you're a Gryffindor. I would think that the last thing to worry you."

Now Hermione laughed. Snape would never, ever understand students, and Gryffindors least of all.

"Yes, I'll help. What do you need us to do?"

Snape's dungeon laboratory was not a good place to cultivate poppies, which needed sun and warmth, two commodities in short supply beneath the castle proper. He was sure Professor Sprout would have been accommodating, but it was bad enough drawing three students into illegal activity without involving another teacher. Regretting the invasion of his privacy, Snape set up a temporary lab in his private rooms.

"Neville says," Hermione began, stopping for a moment when Snape winced and then continuing, "he thinks it will be okay to use magic before we start collecting the opium, and we can induce the plants to finish flowering more quickly that way."

"Longbottom _thinks_ ? Why am I not reassured?"

"Well, unless you have knowledge you haven't shared with us, Neville's the best resource we have."

"The world has ended and this is hell," Snape muttered. "Fine. Do it. I have no idea how much time we have, but I know the Dark Lord will not go much longer without summoning me. I'd like to have a potion available whenever that is."

Snape looked at the two students. "You will do _exactly_ as I say. There will be no questioning my judgement, no arguing. We don't know what effect the actual harvest will have. Miss Granger, you will be doing that part by yourself."

"What? No!" Harry shouted. "It's too dangerous!"

"Shut up, Potter! We have no time to indulge your tender sensibilities. We are at war, or had you forgotten? Miss Granger I trust you understand?"

"Yes. Harry, of the three of us, I'm the one that's most expendable if something goes wrong."

"Hermione!"

"It's okay, really it is. Everything we've read would seem to indicate that there's little risk in handling opium, it's just ingesting it that causes problems. But if there is a risk, I'm the proper one to take it. Professor Snape is our only contact with Voldemort–"

"How many times must I tell you? Do _not_ use the Dark Lord's name!" Snape could feel his face getting hot. He chose to think it was anger rather than fear.

"Sorry. Professor Snape is our only contact with the Dark Lord, and we just can't risk your magical abilities at all, given the prophecy."

"We could get someone else!" Harry insisted.

"And who would you suggest, Potter," Snape sneered. "Which one of your beloved Gryffindors would you risk?"

"Why does it have to be a Gryffindor? We could use one of your Slytherins. Nobody would care if one of them lost their magic!"

"Ten points, Potter! And which of the Slytherins would you trust, hmmm? Mr Malfoy, perhaps. Should I summon him?"

Harry's shoulders sank. "I suppose you're right. But what will we do if something does happen to Hermione's magic?"

"We will do what we can, Potter. Whatever that may be. Let's hope the need does not arise."

"Explain to me again why you think this potion will work?"

"Listen, Harry," Hermione said as she traced her finger across the text of a large and rather mouldy volume. "_...resists poison and venomous bites, cures chronic headache, vertigo, deafness, epilepsy, apoplexy, dimness of sight, loss of voice, asthma, coughs of all kinds, spitting of blood, tightness of breath, colic, the lilac poison, jaundice, hardness of the spleen stone, urinary complaints, fever, dropsies, leprosies, the trouble to which women are subject, melancholy and all pestilences._" She looked up fro her reading. "That was written by a Muggle, but _this_ was written by a wizard. ..._Opium provides the same healing properties to wizards as to Muggles but physiological damage to the magical system is so prevalent as to outweigh any benefit._"

"So," Harry said slowly, clearly focussing hard on what Hermione had read, "opium does actual physical damage to a wizards magical system?"

"Exactly, Mr Potter. Well done. Two points to Gryffindor."

"You're _giving_ me points?"

"It is said that it is wise to not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"As if I would look in your mouth, you snaggle-toothed git." Harry was not successful in keeping that mutter from Snape's ears.

Snape smiled widely, with genuine pleasure. "Two points _from_ Gryffindor. You never learn, do you?"

Harry opened his mouth and then clearly thought better of it. "So, the potion will cure Voldemort's headache, but it will make his magic wonky."

"Yes, wonky would be the technical term," Snape said with a moue of distaste and not a little sarcasm.

"See? And you thought I couldn't learn."

Harry's grin was infectious, but Snape was damned if he was going to be infected.

"How do you know it'll go wonky in a way we want it to? What if it makes his powers stronger?"

"I've considered that carefully. Potions skill is a matter of intuition as much as competent brewing. It becomes increasingly clear that you do better with more information. I've said as much to the Headmaster for years, for all the good it did. Have a seat, this will take awhile."

This time, Snape conjured two chairs so Hermione and Harry did not have to sit on the floor. To their amazement, he summoned a house-elf and ordered tea.

"Although opium is illegal, and no reputable wizard has had anything to do with it for four thousand years, there are those who still fall sway to its pleasures."

"You sound as if you've got personal experience."

"Don't be impertinent. You may not like me, but I am reputable."

Harry snorted. "Yeah? Tell that to Moody, or any other auror."

"Ah yes, and the good opinion of that lunatic means so very, very much to me."

"I'm just saying..."

"Well stop saying, and let me continue!" Snape snapped.

The arrival and a few moments consumption of the tea brought tempers back inside the stratosphere. They were silent for as long as it took Potter to consume four small cakes and a cup of tea, while Snape and Granger each had a digestive biscuit.

Snape looked at Harry, sneered, and then touched his forefinger to his lip and gave it a small swipe. Harry looked confused momentarily and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.

"Charming," Snape said.

Hermione giggled.

"If we could get back to the matter at hand..." For some unaccountable reason Snape shuddered. "There are places in Knockturn Alley and elsewhere, where wizards and witches are able to succumb to their various vices if they so choose." He felt, and suspected he probably looked, completely uncomfortable.

"We're sixteen, Snape. We know some stuff, okay? You mean like prostitution and drug use and stuff."

"Yes. Specifically drug use. I have made it something of a mission to find and interview as many opium eaters as I could. With their testimony to its effects, and with what I have been able to find in medical histories, I think I have figured out a way to effectively poison the Dark Lord's magical system. We will only be able to test it on him, of course. So whatever success we have will be a product of trial and error, but I see no other options readily available."

"Well, we'd better get to work then, hadn't we? Judging from the pain in my scar, he's getting angrier by the day. I'm guessing his headaches are getting pretty bad."

"I've been expecting to be summoned for months. It could happen any day now."

It was not without trepidation that Snape apparated to the designated arrival point. Months had passed since the last time the Dark Lord had summoned him, but that last time had been the occasion of Snape's extremely painful 'birthday present' and the memory still made him tremble. He despised himself for his weakness. Walking with leaden feet up the incline, in the direction which he was being magically pulled, Snape crested a small hill and was confronted with the ruin of a house.

The eaves sank with the weight of years, some windows were boarded and others not, although jagged pieces of glass in cracked and weathered frames indicated more than a passing need. He looked at the sagging structure dubiously. Many wizarding buildings and homes were magically made to appear derelict to the eyes of passing Muggles, but the magic didn't usually blind wizards. Either the Dark Lord was expending great personal power masking the true nature of this house, or it really was an ancient wreck. With a start, Snape realized it was the latter. This was not a wizarding home designed to look like a decaying Muggle house; it was actually a decaying Muggle house. How very disconcerting.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. The small black case he was carrying seemed to get heavier by the moment. With a grimace of self-disgust, he straightened himself, donned his most imperious, self-confident expression, and strode manfully up to a door sagging on its hinges. Knocking was unnecessary, the door swung open on its own as Snape approached. He crossed a large, empty entranceway and put his hand on the first door he encountered. This one opened of its own accord as well. At first, Snape thought the room was empty, except for the dust and detritus of long abandonment, but in the far corner of the room was a large fireplace, and in front of that the high a decrepit chair with sagging springs and leaking white fluff from the many tears and rips in its upholstery. It appeared to have been used as a scratching post by a very large cat in need of a nail trim.

Slowly the chair rose an inch or two off the ground and pivoted until Snape was staring across a long, bare expanse of floor into the red eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"Do you like my house, Severus?" The Dark Lord, thankfully, wasn't bothering with his usual affectation of prolonged esses. It was a mannerism that had always irked Snape.

"I would have thought my Lord would have commandeered Lucius's mansion."

"Would you?" The Dark Lord asked, clearly displeased.

Snape fought to keep his back rigid and to stop the trembling that threatened to unman him. He struggled to think of something to say that would mitigate whatever error he had just made. Instinctively, his muscles clenched, prepared for the pain of Cruciatus.

"I do not take what is not rightfully mine, Severus."

"Of course not, my Lord," Snape said smoothly, "but I'm sure Lucius would never begrudge you anything."

"Do not trifle with me, Snape. You're lucky you caught me in a good mood, otherwise I would be inclined to punish you. Don't stand back there, man! Approach."

Mentally, Snape rolled his eyes, but he was careful not to allow any change of expression to signal his loathing. Crossing the room, he knelt as gracefully as he could and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth with it. All that would accomplish was a severe punishment, and it would not rid the bitter taste in his mouth caused by having to kneel at the foot of a madman.

And Voldemort was insane. Any doubts Snape had ever entertained about the Dark Lord's mental health had been resolved years before; he was mad as a hatter. For that matter, so was Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps it madness was necessary to wield such great power, which went a long way in explaining Potter's infamous idiocy. The thought of what power might be invested in Miss Lovegood crossed Snape's mind before he came back to his senses.

"You may rise." Voldemort languorously waved a thin white hand, as if Snape were nothing more than a servant. Which of course he was.

"This house was my father's house. This is the house where it all began, it seemed appropriate to make a new beginning here. Besides which, I take great pleasure watching it all crumble around me."

Definitely deranged. With any luck, Potter would never have to fight Voldemort; it was more likely he would be killed by a falling beam.

"I understand, my Lord. Were it possible, I would probably enjoy doing the same with my father's house."

"You presume too much, Severus."

"Yes, my Lord. Sorry, my Lord."

Voldemort raised his hand again, this time summoning a chair from the other end of the room. "Sit."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Oh, do stop grovelling. You don't do it well. You never have. It's part of your charm. As a matter of fact, it's probably your only virtue." The Dark Lord sounded amused and dangerous.

Snape wisely bit his tongue.

"Rumours have reached me, Severus. What's going on between you and _Potter_?" Even Snape hadn't known it was possible to invest a single word with so much loathing.

"Ah, you've heard about that. I was sure you would. I intended to tell you soon, in any case." Snape could again feel the sweat prickling between his shoulder blades. He had to be very, very careful here. "I've been asked me to step into the breach, as it were. I've told you Potter is unhappy with the Headmaster. Although I hardly seemed the logical choice, Dumbledore has asked me to attempt to befriend the brat, become his confidant."

The Dark Lord's laugh was high pitched and unpleasant. "And is it working?"

Snape bowed his head. "No, my Lord. Potter still loathes me, and the feeling is mutual. I'll confess, I haven't been trying very hard." Snape's lips twitched upward.

"_Crucio!_"

Snape fell out of his chair, his back arching almost enough to allow his head to touch his heals. In seconds his voice was hoarse from screaming as he thrashed on the ground.

"So, Severus? What's between you and Potter?" Voldemort held the spell for a moment longer before allowing Snape to answer.

"Nothing, Lord," Snape gasped. "I'd kill the little prick if I thought I could!"

Voldemort laughed again. "I believe you mean that. Tell me, is there any chance at all the boy could be swayed to our side."

Snape attempted to laugh but it came out as little more than a huff of breath. "None, my Lord. He is too enamoured of his celebrity to consider doing anything that might disappoint his fans."

"Harry, I don't think this is a very good idea," Hermione was frowning.

"It's probably not the best thing I ever suggested, but Hermione," Harry was almost pleading, "it's me that's going to have to kill Voldemort or die trying. And nobody will tell me anything. The Order won't, Snape sure won't, and Dumbledore is sick. I have to find out for sure, and if he's on our side, then he might need help."

"Harry, you _know_ he's on our side."

"All the more reason. So, you'll help?"

"Harry . . ."

"Well, I'm in," Ron said, flopping on the sofa. "He may be a bastard, but he also may be our bastard. Maybe. And it beats studying Potions."

"Hermione?"

"Oh, all right! Somebody with sense needs to be involved." Hermione didn't sound pleased.

"Great! Good! I knew I could count on you. We have to think. We don't want it to end up like it did at the Ministry." Harry looked away, feeling tears well up in his eyes as he thought again of Sirius.

"You two have to agree that we're only going to look," Hermione said sternly. "If Snape's in trouble, we'll come back here and get help."

"But Hermione," Harry began, but Ron elbowed him in the ribs and gave his head a minute shake before saying, "You're right, of course. She's right, Harry. We just find him. If he's in trouble, we'll hotbroom it back here."

Harry looked at Ron in shock, mouth open, and then snapped it shut, allowing his shoulders to slump at the same time. "Fine. Yeah. You're right. But let's just go, okay? We're wasting time!"

Hermione looked suspiciously at the two of them.

"How are we going to find him," Ron asked quickly before Hermione could say anything.

"I put a tracking spell on him."

"Oh Harry! You didn't! Voldemort will be able to tell!"

"No, really it's okay. I'm not tracking _him_ so much as I'm tracking his bootlace. It's a really small spell. No! Honestly Hermione. I looked it up. The smaller the item, the smaller the spell, the harder to detect. Voldemort's got other things to be worrying about. He's not going to notice a spell that small. It will just sort of slide into the aura of Snape's own magical signature."

"I'm impressed." Hermione smiled at Harry.

"_You're_ impressed?" asked a wide-eyed Ron. "I'm gobsmacked! You actually do know what you're doing, don't you? That's amazing!"

"Shut up," Harry said, punching his knuckles into Ron's arm, but smiling good-naturedly.

Harry thought it would be hard to fit the three of them under his invisibility cloak -- he himself hadn't grown much, but Hermione was now taller than he was, and Ron was a young giant -- but the cloak apparently made itself into whatever length was necessary. When Harry and Ron had grabbed their brooms and taken Hermione down to the Quidditch broom shed to pick out one for herself, he discovered that the cloak would easily cover the brooms as well as themselves. A reckless smile crossed his face.

"So, how's this spell work?" Ron asked.

Harry pulled his wand from its pocket and, holding it loosely said, "Show me." The wand quivered in his hand and then pointed southeast.

"Show me? That's the incantation?"

Harry ducked his head with embarrassment. "You know I'm no good at Latin. The spell allows the caster to weave his own incantation into it, makes it more secure you know, so that nobody can interfere. I thought it would be better if I made my incantation something I wouldn't forget. Plus, you know, nobody would expect English."

"That's surprisingly logical."

"Gosh, thanks Hermione." Harry invested his words with Snape-like sarcasm.

"I only meant–"

"I'd drop it if I were you," Ron said. "He knows what you meant."

"If we're going to do this then we'd better hurry," Harry said, mounting his broom and kicking off.

"My head hurts abominably."

"I have something else for you to try, my Lord." Snape set his black case on its side on the floor and opened it, revealing a number of bottles and flasks in a variety of shapes. He pulled a wide-mouthed bottle roughly the size of a half-pint glass from the case and held it up. The light from the fire revealed a liquid the colour of red currants; in its depths swirled something vaguely black, something shown more by motion than by any tangible essence.

"What is it?"

"I found an ancient manuscript listed in a catalogue from Rome. On no more than a hunch, I ordered it. In it was a potion purported to be created by the wizard Asclepius himself. It seemed worth a try, as nothing else I have found has helped."

"How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"

Snape smiled bitterly. "Sometimes your little jokes frighten me. You know I am loyal unto death, my Lord."

"It will be your death if you try anything."

"Never, my Lord." Snape thought it prudent to kneel.

"Well, give it over. It had better work this time, Severus. I'm growing impatient."

Harry had his wand clutched tightly in his fist, which meant he only had one hand on his broom. When his wand suddenly began twisting in his hand, seeming to fight him to get free, he almost lost control. He had two choices, hold onto his wand or hold onto his broom, he couldn't do both. Swearing inwardly, he let go of his wand and clutched his broom in both hands before diving after it. Before he could reach out to snatch it he realized it wasn't falling. It was flying! Straight and true it aimed for something that looked no more than a brighter shade of the darkness that surrounded them.

"We've found it," he screamed above the wind. Ron and Hermione were close on his tail and they nodded in understanding.

The trio dove straight down after the wand, swerving dangerously around oncoming trees.

"_Lumos!_" Harry yelled, taking a hand off his broom and pointing it at his wand, barely visible a metre below them. Thankfully, it worked and the tip of his wand glowed. It was much easier to follow. Dodging in and out of branches large and small, the wand darted toward what was gradually becoming clear was a house. Harry heard a loud _thwak_ and then heard Ron curse. The tree branches were thickest here, it was a wonder none of them had been knocked off.

The branches thinned and suddenly the ground was rising fast and hard to meet them. Harry put on a burst of speed and stretched out as far as he dared to grasp his wand again. He saw with relief that Ron and Hermione had landed safely, but his attention was snatched away as he struggled to pull out of his dive before he crashed.

A minute later, looking pale and shaking, Harry emerged out of the gloom of the woods and walked towards his friends.

"Let it never be said you can't fly, mate! That was amazing!"

"If I had half the brain Snape thinks I have," Harry laughed, "which would be half of nothing, I'd have just let my wand fall and found it when I landed. I was only three feet from the ground, it's not as if I would have lost it."

"I think we'd better be quiet," Hermione whispered. "There's a house just up there." She was already moving up the incline. She stopped and looked back at the two boys. "We're just going to _look_, remember?"

OK, I need help here. I need a cliffhanger. Um, suggestions? Should I just leave it with them looking in the window and gasping? Should a voice come out of the darkness and say, "What have we here? Won't my Lord be pleased." Suggestions? Huh? Huh?

_Galen, mediaeval physician, compiler of Greco-Roman medicine._


	11. Another Fool

**Chapter 11: Another Fool**  
In which Harry is overcome and our hero is an idiot, again.

_O, at last I've awakened to see what you've done  
What can I do but pack up and run  
Now I know the rules  
Get yourself another fool_  
Ernest Monroe Tucker & Frank A. Haywood - _Get Yourself Another Fool_

* * *

For an instant after the hand had touched down on his shoulder, Harry felt nauseous and dizzy. Once again he had led his friends into a trap!

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley?"

Harry's shoulders sagged and he looked quickly at Ron.

"I have _never_ been more upset with any students in my life!"

"Madame Hooch?" Harry gulped as relief flooded through his body.

"Out afterrr cairrrfew! Stealing brrrooms! Rrreckless flying!" Professor McGonagall's burr was thicker than usual, a sure sign that she was furious.

Hooch let go her grip on Harry's shoulder and grabbed him by the ear. First Snape now Hooch. Harry wondered if this was part of a teacher's training. Ron yelped as McGonagall grabbed and twisted his ear.

"Where's Miss Granger?"

"Er," Harry wasn't sure what to say. If he said Hermione wasn't here, they might end up leaving without her, but he didn't want to get her in trouble if he could avoid it.

"Don't prevaricate, Potter. We know she's with you. Now, where is she?"

Harry gestured up the hill with his head and winced as the pressure on his ear increased.

"Come along then. We'll collect Miss Granger and deal with the three of you back at school."

"Ow! Let go!" Ron moaned as Professor McGonagall started up the hill, dragging Ron along by his ear.

"Professor, wait! We can explain!" Harry whispered desperately, trying to keep his voice down as they approached the derelict house.

"Your explanation can wait, Mr Potter," Hooch said repressively.

Harry dug in his heels and refused to be dragged any further, even though Madame Hooch continued to pull painfully at his ear. "Shhh!" He begged. "It can't wait! Snape's in trouble and we think Voldemort's in that house!"

McGonagall stopped abruptly, causing Ron, who had just begun to trot to keep up with her, to moan again. She cast a silencing charm before saying, "There's nothing we can do, Harry. I'm sorry. At this stage, trying to assist Professor Snape would do more harm than good."

"How can you say that?" In spite of the silencing charm, Harry was still trying to keep his voice to a whisper. "We have to do _something_! We can't just leave him!"

Madame Hooch let go Harry's ear and pushed him up the hill. He stumbled forward a few steps and then halted again, only to be shoved more forcefully. Professor McGonagall retained her grip on Ron's ear and was pulling him along with her.

As they crested the hill they saw Hermione hurrying back towards them. "Oh dear," she groaned as she saw who accompanied her two friends. "Professors! What are you doing here?"

"I'll ask the same of you, Miss Granger! For shame! I thought you at least had more sense," McGonagall said irritably.

"Professor Snape's in that house, and he's not alone. I think... I think Voldemort's with him. I saw them through the window."

Harry ran before anyone could stop him and pressed his nose against the glass. Snape _was_ in the house, and even though Voldemort's back was to the window, Harry could never mistake that form for anyone else.

"We have to _do_ something," Harry hissed. He felt the blood drain from his head as Snape was hit with Cruciatus.

"There's nothing we can do, Potter," McGonagall said again. "Come away from that window this instant! We can't help Professor Snape and we must get the three of you back to Hogwarts."

"Fine," Harry said belligerently. "You don't want to help? I'll do it myself! We can't just leave him here!"

"Do you want another death on your hands, Harry?" McGonagall's voice was cold.

Harry blanched.

"I'm sorry to do this, my dear, but you leave me no choice. _Stupefy_!"

"Ron! Are you awake?" Harry called out in as loud a whisper as he dared, not wanting to wake the rest of his dorm mates. "Ron?"

The only answer was a loud snore.

He could wake his friend up, but really, what would he say? Apologise again for getting him and Hermione in trouble? He couldn't tell Ron what was really on his mind. Or, he could, but it wouldn't be reasonable to wake him up to do it.

Harry kicked the covers off his legs and flopped over onto his stomach, punching his pillow, trying to get comfortable. Blowing out an exaggerated breath, he turned onto his back again. One hundred and fifty points Gryffindor had lost. McGonagall was as mad as he'd ever seen her. Hooch had shaken the borrowed broom at the three of them and shook her head without speaking, betrayal radiating from her normally pleasant face. And what about Snape? How could they have left him that way?

Was he back? Was he okay? Well, at least no one had been killed this time. At least Harry hoped Snape hadn't been, although it hadn't looked good when the Potions master had been writhing on the floor in front of Voldemort. Snape was a bastard but nobody deserved to be punished the way it Snape had been. After all, Snape had been almost nice this year.

Harry's mind went back to Snape sitting on the floor of the Shrieking Shack gently asking about Sirius, and then he groaned. _Not_ _now_ he thought. He was getting hard.

It wasn't that he was attracted to Snape. He wasn't. Not exactly. But when the only time you had kissed somebody had been a year previous, and that somebody had been a girl, it was hard not to at least _consider_ a man that said he was interested. As far as Harry knew, Snape was the only other gay person at Hogwarts. If you ignored his face and his personality – not that you could – well, you _couldn't_ ignore his face and his personality. It just couldn't be done. There was no way to even tell what kind of body was hidden under those black robes. Harry sighed. Snape had obviously _trying_ to be nicer, Harry just wished the man didn't find it such an effort.

What _did_ Snape hide under his robes? He seemed fit enough, at least he moved well when he was stalking the hall and he'd proven very quick during duelling lessons. So he had to have some muscle, right? He was probably that same sallow, pasty colour all the way down. All the way down. Harry gulped. He was not thinking this way. Snape was a bastard, and Harry still couldn't be sure the man wasn't still a Death Eater.

It was just hormones. These days it seemed like Harry could get an erection simply by eating a good sandwich when he was hungry. He knew he wasn't alone in this either, although none of the other boys talked about it, not in so many words. There had been the time Dean had groaned at the sight of a bowl of figs on the table, insisting the house-elves served them just to torment him. A couple of seventh year boys had snickered and Harry had looked at Ron to see if he understood why. Ron had just shrugged and then they had both turned to look at Hermione, who was blushing furiously but refused to explain anything. From that Harry had figured out it had something to do with sex, although he still didn't understand how. Seriously, how could somebody be turned on by figs? It wasn't at all like watching a guy eat a banana. That at least made sense. No, erections came at the drop of a hat and for no reason at all. It certainly had nothing to do with Snape.

Damn it! Was Snape all right or wasn't he? Tired of tossing and turning, Harry decided to give up trying to sleep. He'd get his Invisibility Cloak and go to Snape's office. He might have a long wait, but Harry didn't think it advisable to lurk outside Snape's living quarters.

"Pandemonium," Harry said to the fat lady and then climbed out of the hole when she opened the way. Once in the corridor, Harry felt panic rise in his throat. Was Snape all right? Looking around to make sure there was no one near, he broke into a run.

Harry swung around the corner and hurtled himself into Snape's office, knocking over a chair before tripping over a pile of books and sliding several feet across the stone floor until he was stopped by a pair of booted feet.

"You're okay!" Harry panted, looking up a Snape, eyes wide and smiling.

Snape was seated at his desk, a glass of something green in his hand. "I was. Until I was run over by a drooling cretin."

Harry quickly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and then frowned. "I wasn't drooling!"

"I wasn't drooling, _Professor_. I might tolerate you attempting to knock me out of my chair, Potter, but I draw the line at your chronic lack of respect."

Laughter welled up inside Harry's belly. He rolled over on the floor, clutching his stomach, laughing until tears ran down his cheeks. An instant more and he was crying in earnest, great gulping sobs.

Snape looked down at him, expressionless save for one raised eyebrow. Finally, he sighed and rose from his chair. Snape was seated at his desk, a glass of something green in his hand. Bending down, he grabbed Potter under his arms and hauled him to his feet. "Sit," he commanded, and pushed the still sobbing boy into a chair. He disappeared into his lab and came back holding a bottle.

Harry was wiping tears and snot from his face; laughter and crying replaced by hiccoughs.

Snape shook his head. "Drink," he commanded acidly.

"What is it?"

"Poison, of course. Drink it."

"Oh hell," Harry said, "why not?" He uncorked the bottle and downed it as quickly as he could, grimacing at the taste.

When he opened his mouth to speak a violet bubble popped out, followed closely by a lime-green one. He blinked and closed his mouth. Another lime-green bubble squeezed out his left ear, and then a blue one out his right. He smiled peacefully. Opening his mouth again he popped out several more coloured bubbles, moving his lips as if blowing smoke rings, propelling them across the room on a gust of warm breath.

"Feeling better?" Snape sounded bored and looked disgusted.

"Much," Harry said. "What's is that stuff?"

Snape grinned smugly. "The Dark Lord's personal headache remedy."

"You gave me opium? Won't that screw up my powers?" Harry didn't sound worried in the least.

"Don't worry. A single dose won't do you much harm, it's effects are cumulative, and you can be assured I won't allow you to get your grubby paws on any more."

Harry looked mournfully down at his palms. "They are grubby, aren't they?" He looked up blankly. "I thought you might be dead." That didn't seem to worry him any more than the idea of his powers being affected by the potion. "We saw you." He stared up delightedly at the bubbles surrounding his head.

"What do you mean 'we', and what do you mean 'saw me'?" Snape asked.

"He used Cruciatus on you several times. I wanted to help, do something, but they wouldn't let me."

"Who are 'they', Potter?"

"Me, Ron and Hermione, Professors McGonagall and Hooch."

Snape looked stunned. "You were there? Minerva and Rolanda were there?" Snape sank into a chair, clutching his head in his hands. "I think you have some explaining to do."

"We thought you were in trouble. You _were_ in trouble."

"And 'we' this time refers to?"

"Me and Ron and Hermione."

"Ron, Hermione and I."

"Right."

"And the great Harry Potter and his tiny retinue sought to rescue me. Three sixteen-year-old children thought they could rescue me from the Dark Lord." Snape laugh was sneering.

"Sounds stupid when you put it that way," Harry said calmly, "but we had to do something. We would have gone to Dumbledore, _Professor_ Dumbledore," he amended quickly, "but he's sick."

"I suppose I should be flattered."

"Then McGonagall and Hooch showed up. They said there was nothing we could do. McGonagall Stupefied me."

"Quite rightly, too. You little idiot! You could have got yourself killed. More importantly, you could have got _me_ killed. What do you think the Dark Lord would have done if his loyal servant was suddenly 'rescued' by Harry Potter? My life would have been forfeit, and even if not, my usefulness to the Order would have been ruined! DO YOU NEVER THINK?" Snape had gone quite red in the face.

Harry grinned. "You look funny." Several more bubbles popped out of his ears and nose.

"You're high, Potter."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Harry giggled and then clapped his hand over his mouth as even more multi-coloured bubbles escaped. "I could get to like this stuff."

"I'm sure you could," Snape drawled, "but you won't have that opportunity. As a matter of fact, now that you've calmed down, I think it's time for you to sober up." Snape rose, walked to his desk, and opened his black bag. "Drink this," he said, producing a tiny flask.

"What is it?"

"Do you care?"

"Not really," Harry smiled peacefully. "Certainly not if it's as good as the stuff you just gave me." He tilted his head back and smiled up at Snape. "I think you'd better help me. My hands don't seem to be obeying my brain."

Snape sighed with exasperation. He uncorked the flask and let the fluid dribble into Harry's mouth. "Feel better?"

"No, actually. I feel...normal. You're no fun at all."

"I think it's time for you to go, Potter. I've had a rather disturbing evening. You're keeping me from a nice long bath."

Now why had Potter just turned red?

"Uh, right," Harry choked out. "I'll just be leaving then."

He made no move to go. Snape looked down, taking in the fact that Potter had his hands folded protectively over his groin. The boy turned an even brighter red. Snape was suddenly very glad he had long ago grown out of spontaneous erections. Still, it was rather... delicious.

"Red's a good colour for you, Mr Potter. No wonder you're in Gryffindor."

"This doesn't mean anything," Harry insisted, humiliation plain on his face. "It just happens."

"Yes." Snape smiled wickedly. "I was sixteen myself, once. Although, if memory serves, there was usually _something_ that sparked it. A good Quidditch match. Showers afterwards. Bananas."

Harry choked.

"OK, then," Potter said, standing up. "I'll just be going. I'm glad to see you're still alive. Sorry to keep you from your... bath."

"How happy are you to see me alive, Mr Potter?" Snape asked, his voice taking on a quality Harry had never heard before. A quality that made the hair on his arms stand up.

Snape moved forward as he spoke, and Harry backed up.

"Frightened?"

A purr. That's what it was. Unbelievably, Snape was purring. He blinked at Harry and looked for all the world like a contented cat.

"You've never frightened me, Snape."

_That_ was a lie.

"Good." Snape moved forward and Harry backed up once again.

"I think it's time we get to know each other better."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to breathe. There was nowhere for him to move anymore. His back was literally against the wall and it would have been hard to slip a piece of parchment between his chest and Snape's. Trying desperately to take a breath, he pressed his bum hard against the cold wall. If he didn't calm down he and Snape would be touching and not at their chests.

Shockingly, Snape brushed his knuckles lightly across Harry's cheekbones. To his complete mortification, Harry whimpered.

"Oh God," Harry whispered. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"No?" Snape matched his whisper. "_I_ think it's a very good idea." Snape leaned forward and brushed Harry's temple with his lips. "It's certainly a better idea than you rushing off harum scarum, trying to save my worthless life. And this," Snape's tongue outlined Harry's ear, "feels rather better than Cruciatus, I assure you."

Harry's head flopped backwards and _thunked_ against the wall. He didn't even have time to register pain and Snape's lips were on his neck, sucking and nipping, driving every thought out of his head.

"Oh God," Harry whispered again, sounding dazed.

Snape's lips seemed to be everywhere at once on Harry's face and neck. Occasionally he could feel teeth, but more often it was Snape's tongue that he felt. His cock felt as if it could punch a hole in his pyjama bottoms. He wished it would.

Suddenly, Snape pressed hard up against him; something thick and hard pressing into Harry's belly. Harry's own cock was wedged almost painfully against Snape's thigh. Snape grabbed Harry's hands in his own, pushing them up over his head and into the wall. He ground his hips against Harry's stomach. Harry thought he might die from pleasure.

Then he panicked. "Stop. Don't. Please."

"What?" Snape asked thickly against Harry's ear.

"It's too much! Please stop."

"Don't be coy, Potter. Now certainly isn't the time." Snape did not sound pleased.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling his Adam's apple moving up and down as if it were _inside_ his throat.

"Just slow down. Please." He was begging. He almost would rather have died than say the next thing, but he had to. "I've never... that is... I've only ever kissed one person before and that was a _girl_!"

Snape let Harry drop his arms but didn't let go of the boy's wrists. "You expect me to believe the Hero of the Wizarding World never...?

Snape's sneer grated on Harry's last nerve. He felt himself bristle and he pulled away. "Fuck you, Snape! Fuck you and your Hero of the Wizarding World! No. I never. Satisfied now you've totally humiliated me?"

A strange look crossed Snape's face. He stretched out his arms and tried to pull Harry back into his embrace but Harry was having none of it.

Snape sighed. "Potter... I'm... I'm sorry. I was joking."

"Yeah? Well it wasn't funny!"

"I apologised," Snape snapped. "What else do you want from me?"

"Fine. You apologised. I accept your apology. Harry grinned wryly. "I should have known this was a stupid idea. I _did_ know. It's why I tried to forget the things you said to me and why I kept telling myself, 'Harry, it's Snape.'" Harry took a deep breath and pursed his lips, feeling very forlorn. "I'm glad you're on our side, Snape, and I'm glad you're alive, but I'm going now."

Harry turned away from Snape and straightened his clothes. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might shatter against his ribs. He walked quickly towards the door and at the last minute, paused and then turned around. He opened his mouth to say something and then shook his head, opened the door, and left.

"Recognize this?"

"Good Lord, Severus! There couldn't possibly have been any left after the last time!" McGonagall laughed.

"No. This is its great-great-great-great-great-grandchild. Still, the malt doesn't fall far from the – whatever it is that malt falls from."

"I take it you're responsible for its diminished state?"

"And it's responsible for mine. It and ... Harry Potter."

"There's no point loitering in the corridor; a student might see. Come in. You know where the glasses are. Let me just tidy myself up," Minerva said, pulling what could only be called a tartan peignoir.

It seemed very odd that someone would make something that sheer, plaid. Or perhaps it was just the rather revealing nightgown it covered that was plaid. Snape furrowed his brow. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just late, I was about asleep when you knocked. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand."

The furrowed brow rose to Snape's hairline. "_That's_ the first thing that came to hand? Minerva, you have hidden..." Snape waved his hand vaguely, unable to find the exact word.

Minerva primly pursed her lips. "You will not make me blush, Severus Snape. I'm far too old for that nonsense."

"Nonsense! You're not a day over seventy!"

"Somebody should turn you over and paddle your little bottom, young man!"

"Are you offering?"

"Don't be absurd, Severus," Minerva said primly. "I think that would be a job for Mr Potter."

"You old cow." Snape sneered.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Gryffindors must be the most sexually backward of all teenagers in all of Britain."

Minerva laughed. "He _isn't_!"

Snape's smile was sour. "He most certainly is."

"The Boy-who-lived is a virgin? Oh dear, that is a pity. Ah well, Mr Potter's upbringing caused a certain naivety."

Snape slumped in his chair. "And this is the Hero of the Wizarding World. We're doomed."

TBC


	12. Fancies for Facts

**Chapter 12: Fancies For Facts**

In which Dumbledore weakens, Harry is exiled, and our Hero appears to change horses in mid-stream

_It has a Venome that more or less rankles wherever it bites: And as it reports Fancies for Facts, so it disturbs its own House as often as other Folks._

– William Penn: _Fruits of Solitude; Of Jealousy_

The setting sun looked more like an overly bright moon than Apollo's golden chariot. The thick mist that had intermittently plagued the countryside for much of the year obscured its redness and the light it cast was thin and cold. Snape stood on the steps of the castle, looking out over the watery shadows that darkened the grounds; in the distance the lake looked more like an mirage than an actual body of water. Easier to believe it late fall than early summer. The last of the students had gone, and most of the staff as well, and the castle seemed strangely silent. Snape shook his head. The thought was ridiculous. Of course the castle was quiet without all those brats wreaking havoc. Still. . . All that could be heard was a muffled rhythmic thumping coming from somewhere; Hagrid chopping wood or nailing shingles down; perhaps it was Fang barking - the thick fog distorted sound as well as vision.

A soft sweet trill alerted him to Fawkes's presence before he felt the phoenix land softly on his shoulder and bump his ear affectionately.

"Yes, I'm coming."

The redgold bird trilled again and gracefully took flight. Snape took a last look at the oppressive fog before turning and climbing the steps to the castle.

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was harsh, barely audible over his laboured breathing. For a moment Snape had the urge to run away and hide, run away from Hogwarts, the war, everything, but mostly from the very sick man in front of him. Run as fast and as far as his legs would take him. Which, of course, would never be far enough. The moment of madness passed, he walked to the side of the bed and took Albus's thin hand in his own. The skin was as dry as death but there was surprising strength in Dumbledore's grip as he squeezed Snape's hand briefly.

"Minerva tells me you went to the station to see the students off."

Snape looked at McGonagall, threat visible in the slit of his eyes.

"Minerva has an overactive imagination. It was purest chance that brought me to Hogsmeade at that juncture."

McGonagall's laugh was akin to the squabble of migrating geese.

"Minerva, Severus, don't quarrel. Please. Would you pour me a drink, Severus? Some of the Pixie Peach Wine would go down well."

"Should you be drinking, Albus?"

"Hush, Minerva. What I'd really like is cup of coffee with a double whisky, but I accept _that_ might not be advisable. The Pixie Peach is mild and won't harm me. Not that there's much left to harm," Albus finished with a weak smile that turned into a fit of coughing.

McGonagall made him sit up and rubbed his back lightly, as if he were a small child. Snape waited until the fit was over and handed Albus a delicate glass filled nearly to overflowing with a pale topaz-coloured wine. Albus took it with a tremulous hand, spilling a little onto his beard, the wet end of which he promptly sucked into his mouth, looking even more ridiculous than usual.

"Ahhh. That hits the spot."

The sick-room and the ill old man were hardly conducive to laughter and yet all three of them did before lapsing into a comfortable silence.

Snape sipped his wine, he could hardly flaunt a glass of whisky, and thought over the ruin of his day. He had, obviously, made rather a fool of himself, appearing at the train station. All the way to Hogsmeade, he had told himself he was merely taking a walk, glad to be rid of the students at last, until he found his feet had carried him directly to the platform. His heart had ridiculously stuttered in his chest when he saw Potter kneeling on the ground, rummaging through his trunk. Snape had tried to prepare himself to look non-committally at the boy, but then Potter had looked up, seen him, slammed his trunk closed and without a word or any acknowledgement at all had hurried onto the train, dragging his trunk behind him.

Snape had felt as if he'd been slapped. His lips thinned and his eyes fluttered angrily. He had turned away to encounter Flitwick smiling cheerfully.

"Could you possibly have behaved more childishly?" Minerva asked, as if she could read Snape's thoughts on his face.

"I'm surprised you of all people would have to ask that question. Besides, I didn't do anything."

"Really, Severus! A bat-bogey hex? Poor Filius."

"I didn't actually cast the hex, if you'll recall."

"Why would you even threaten him?"

"His smile was offensive."

Minerva let go another short, honking laugh. "He was pleased to see you'd come to wave Harry off."

"I was not there to see Potter off."

"When was the last time you went to the station at either arrival or departure?"

"I went for a walk. When I found I was in Hogsmeade, the station seemed a logical stopping place. I didn't wait for the train to leave, if you recall."

"Not after Harry snubbed you."

"Did he? I didn't notice."

"Mmmm," was Minerva's only response.

Snape's contemplation of the pleasure of a blood-letting curse were interrupted by Albus's weak voice.

"How are things with Tom?"

"I haven't heard anything, which is a good sign; presumably it means the Morpheus is working. I'm rather hoping to be summoned soon. If the Morpheus is truly proving addictive, his supply should be dwindling rapidly as his tolerance increases."

"Harry popped in before he left to say good-bye and to tell me his scar has quieted down. 'Barely a twinge in weeks," he said." Albus's voice was getting weaker and he had to clear his throat several times to get that brief sentence out.

"It must be the Morpheus. It certainly couldn't be due to Occlumency, at least not on Potter's part as he's still dismal at it. I suppose the Dark Lord could be occluding since he's discovered the link between them."

"Perhaps it's a bit of all three. You mustn't give up on Harry. He'll learn. He must." Dumbledore succumbed again to a fit of coughing. Minerva helped him take another drink.

"Come, Severus. Let's adjourn to my sitting room. Our Headmaster needs his rest."

"Yes. I'll let you know when I'm summoned again, Albus. Sleep well."

"Wait, before you go," Albus rasped, "how goes the courtship?"

"It doesn't," Snape said succinctly.

"What will you do?"

"About Potter? Nothing. As you know, I offered Granger an apprenticeship for next year. I'll let her think about it for another few weeks and then write to see if she's made her decision."

"I think you're being precipitous," McGonagall offered. "Harry will come around."

"If he does he'll find me absent. I did my best, it wasn't good enough. If the Dark Lord is succumbing to the allure of my potion, it may not matter much longer. We might be able to end the war sooner than later."

Dumbledore wheezed his laughter. "Why Severus, you're an optimist. How is it I never knew?"

Snape's lip curled derisively but all he said was, "Good night, Albus."

Minerva was already out the door, with Snape close behind her, when he heard a weak, "Severus."

Snape turned back. "Albus, surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. You are worn out."

"A transference... while I still can... Harry, or you..."

"It's not time yet to be thinking about that, my friend. Not nearly time."

"Soon." The old man's voice was barely audible. "We must talk about it soon."

"Soon, but not tonight. Sleep, Albus." Snape turned away to see Minerva framed in the doorway, her face white, her eyes coruscating with unshed tears.

The door to Dumbledore's quarters had barely snicked shut behind him when McGonagall put her hand on his arm, steadying herself as she swayed slightly. "He should be in St Mungo's. He refuses. Refuses! Poppy's an excellent nurse but he needs more. We're going to lose him. Why must he be so damn stubborn?"

"You know the reason as well as I, Minerva. He doesn't want the Ministry, or the Death Eaters and thus the Dark Lord, to know he's ill. We've managed to keep it from the students, except for your disingenuously meddlesome Trio."

"They haven't said anything. You know how quickly rumours fly in this place. There hasn't been a whisper, but I'm afraid we can't hide it much longer. He's made a huge effort to appear in the Great Hall regularly, but his strength is failing and if he survives the summer I don't think he'll be able to keep it up next year."

"Minerva, there's no point in worrying about it until we have to."

"Easier said than done."

"It always is. What have you got to drink?"

"Not Creme de Menthe, I think. It would make me weep."

"It might make me disgorge my supper."

Whisky rescued from _The History of the British Empire in 5 Volumes_, Snape sprawled comfortably in an armchair with his legs on a drugget-covered footstool, Minerva resting against the low-back of a divan Snape didn't recall having seen before, her legs curled up under her, they watched the fire for awhile, each lost in thought.

"Will you go home?" Minerva broke their companionable silence.

"No, not this summer. Everything is set up here for the Morpheus and with Albus so ill... And you?"

"Leave Albus? Not bloody likely."

"How long has it been?"

"Albus and I? I've lost track. Longer than you've been alive certainly."

"Why did you never marry?"

"The impertinence!" Minerva laughed. "There just never seemed to be a need for either one of us. By the time we knew for certain what we had, there didn't seem to be a point any longer, and," she continued slowly, "I suspect Albus was afraid it would make me a target, or something. It doesn't matter. It never did."

"I never thought there would be anyone for me, and all current evidence suggests I was right."

"Have you really fallen at last?"

"No!" Snape snapped and then laughed softly. "Well, perhaps," he amended with a rueful smile. "For all the good it will do me."

"Don't count young Potter out just yet. He just might surprise you."

"I'm beyond being surprised by anything that little whelp does."

"Beyond making more Morpheus, what are your plans then? If you're not going home."

"A visit to Miss Granger will be in order, I think."

"You'll come to a bad end some day. Be careful of her heart, Severus. She's easily wounded."

"I'll bear that in mind." Snape sprang to his feet and started pacing restlessly. "I can't stand this, Minerva. Using these _children_ for my own ends. I'm ashamed."

"Not again, _Mister_ Snape," Minerva said, using her best 'Head of House' voice. "We've been over and over it. We need you alive and free. _Especially_ when Albus is gone."

"Why, for God's sake?" Snape exploded. "It's not as if I have his tactical skills. Not as if I can remotely command loyalty. It's not as if I'll be asked, expected, _needed_ to try to help fill his shoes.

"Do stop it, Severus. Really. You know your benefit to the Order. I'll not mollycoddle you. It's necessary. And," she said more kindly, "you're not going to be forcing anyone."

"No," Snape spat, "just lying to them, misleading them. It's cowardly."

"No one doubts your courage."

Snape snorted.

"Stop it. I can't take this. You have a duty and an obligation. Having someone who loves you will be a good thing, however you acquire him," Minerva rolled her eyes, "or her. I know you don't like it. A great many of us don't like a great many things. We cope. You'll cope. Write Miss Granger. Go as slowly as you need. And _don't_ count Harry out yet. You have considerable charm when you want to. I'm sure if you focus the entirety of it on him he'll succumb.

"And before you say anything about lying and misleading," she raised a threatening hand, "it would do Harry a world of good to be loved. It would do him even more good than it would do you, and that's saying something."

Snape sank back into his chair and sighed. "It's going to be a very long summer."

In a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, crowded with his friends, Harry sat in saturnine silence. Hermione and Ron were somewhere down the train corridor, doing Prefect patrol. Finally, after several failed attempts to engage him in conversation, his companions had accepted defeat and left him to his own devices. Everything had gone wrong. Slytherin had won the House Cup, even though Ravenclaw had taken the Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor had ended the year, for the first time in memory, with negative points, entirely due to the aborted rescue attempt. The walk to Hogsmeade had been made miserable by abysmal weather, dreary and wet even though there was no rain. Ron had insisted the points had been miscounted and he wouldn't let it rest. Hermione had spent the entire walk trying to rebut Ron's arguments with logic whilst at the same time attempting to covertly interrogate Harry about Snape. Harry had refused to participate beyond muttering peevishly about the drizzle smearing his glasses. He had so far kept the events of his last encounter with Snape to himself, and he wasn't about to discuss it with Hermione where anyone could overhear.

Now, alone with his thoughts at last, or as alone as one could be in a train compartment with Neville, Luna and the Creavey brothers, Harry allowed his mind to focus on Snape. He had wondered if Snape would be at the station and then dismissed it out of hand; Snape _never _came to see the students off. Still, he might. Harry'd wondered if it would be worse if he did or if he didn't. He'd fabricated an excuse to separate from his friends and blindly rummaged in his trunk as he surreptitiously glanced up and down the platform, looking for the now too-familiar figure of the Potions master. The train's piercing whistle had already sounded when Harry looked up to find Snape looming over him. An inexplicable rage had choked him and he'd hurried onto the train without a word.

Why had Snape appeared at the train station? What was he playing at? Did he think Harry was a fool? It hadn't been enough he'd humiliated Harry in private, he had to do it publicly as well? Why couldn't he just leave Harry alone? He didn't for a minute believe Snape was attracted to him or cared for him in any way whatsoever. It wasn't possible. So what did he want? Harry had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested. And still Snape had shown up. Everything, everything, everything had gone wrong and it was all Snape's fault. Except for the Dursleys. He could hardly lay them at Snape's doorstep. Great. Another summer with his horrible relatives and nothing to look forward to but another year of Snape. Harry sighed. It was going to be a very long summer.

Snape was bored. Somehow, lounging around Hogwarts doing nothing wasn't nearly so pleasant as lounging around his own house doing nothing. He had made a few finicky adjustments to the Morpheus, caught up on all his correspondence - including twelve letters-to-the-editor – graded O.W.L.'s and end-of-year exams, tidied his quarters, scrubbed his laboratory, caught up on all his reading, and the students had only been gone for a week. Albus was too weak for long chats and Minerva rarely left the old man's side.

After two weeks and nine hangovers, Snape's liquor cabinet was looking a bit diminished. There was a decidedly bare patch on the Persian rug, caused by almost endless pacing. He thought of Potter and he tossed off. He thought of Granger and he winced. He drank and he nursed headaches. It was tedious. He almost longed for the searing pain in his arm that meant a summons. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer.

The whole thing was not a good idea. He knew that from the moment it occurred to him and he put quill to parchment but he couldn't think of a workable substitute. It wasn't a _really bad_ idea. _Really bad_ ideas had a heft and texture all their own, whether one chose to recognise that in the moment or not. Not a _really bad_ idea but not a good idea. The knowledge was borne out almost immediately as he struggled for the proper tone.

_Dear__ Miss Granger,_

_I realise I asked you to advise me of your decision _

_ (re the Potions apprenticeship,) at the end of the _

_holiday but everything is going to hell in a very ornate _

_handbasket my the current situation the way my _

_summer is unfolding it I find it would be useful if _

_you could let me know sooner. I would like to _

_propose suggest you to consider Perhaps we could _

_discuss this over dinner I'll stand you to dinner _

_at your local and we can discuss it. May we meet _

_to discuss it? I would like to meet with you to discuss it._

_A meeting would be helpful. _

_I apologize for intruding on your summer holidays but I _

_find I need to know your decision sooner than expected. _

_We can meet in my office at your earliest convenience._

_Yours_

_Regards_

_Sincerely_

_I await your reply._

_Professor__Severus__Snape_

_S. Snape_

_Professor Snape_

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_Thank you for your note. Yes, I would like the opportunity _

_to discuss the apprenticeship with you. Since I can't yet _

_Apparate, perhaps you would consent to meet me at my _

_parents house? Wednesday for an early supper? My parents _

_would be thrilled to meet one of my Hogwarts professors._

_I look forward to hearing from you again._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

_Miss Granger,_

_I would rather slit my throat than dine with strange Muggles, _

_especially any related to you.__I am not fond of Muggles, as I _

_think you know, and certainly have no desire to meet the _

_couple responsible for you.__Dinner with your parents sounds _

_very nice, you must thank them for me and__please_

_extend my apologies. Unfortunately, I don't have much time _

_and believe dinner in a pub would be quicker than a hideously _

_prolonged engagement with, I think Wednesday, however, _

_would be fine. Please advise appropriate Muggle attire,_

_I have no desire to make a fool of myself._

_I would be happy to call for you at the home of your parents, _

_however, I'm sure they would find our conversation tedious, and _

_my time is limited. Perhaps it would be better if the two of us _

_dined at one of your local establishments? _

_I await your owl._

_S. Snape_

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_Thank you for your note. My parents are disappointed that you _

_will not be joining them for dinner, however, they asked me to _

_assure you they understand your time constraints. _

_It would be my pleasure to join you. Shall we say Wednesday at _

_6:00 then? I realise that's early for dinner but our 'local _

_Establishments' tend to close early. My parents eagerly anticipate _

_meeting you when you call._

_Next Wednesday then? I look forward to our conversation._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

_Miss Granger,_

_How many times must we agree that Wednesday is the day? Next _

_Wednesday will be fine unless, of course, I am summoned by the _

_Dark Lord you know who Voldemort you know who. _

_Next Wednesday is fine although seven o'clock would be better for me, _

_if your local serves that late? You will need to provide me direction, _

_it would be especially helpful if you happened to know a good apparition _

_point and the appropriate co-ordinates._

_S. Snape_

There. Hopefully it wouldn't take another dozen missives before Granger gave him the necessary information, if she even knew it. Snape shuddered. Meeting the parents. That was a little _too_ much like courtship He had just less than a week to prepare himself. Snape eyed the bottle on his desk. Only half of it gone. He wondered what Minerva was doing.

"'S'bout time you brought me something," Harry said churlishly, removing the tiny scroll from his Hedwig's leg. In response, she cuffed him with a wing as she flew to her perch and turned her back on him.

Harry flopped carelessly onto his bed, his battered trainers scuffing the wall, adding to a myriad of scuff marks and footprints already there. He had a habit of bouncing his feet when laying on his stomach, or mock-pacing up and down the wall when on his back, and he only took off his shoes when he finally settled in for the night; always ready to leave number 4 Privet Drive at a moments notice, when and if he ever got to. His letter was from Hermione. Surprising it was such a small scroll. She usually went on for twenty or thirty inches.

_Dear Harry,_

_You'll never guess who's coming to our house to _

_meet my parents and take me out to dinner. Are _

_you sitting down? Professor Snape. You could have _

_knocked me over with a feather when I got his owl. _

_He wants to discuss my apprenticeship. I'm begin-_

_ning to believe he actually wants me to accept!_

_I'm curious how he'll look without a robe (stop it! you _

_know what I mean), if he'll manage regular clothes, _

_or if he'll be like those we saw at the QWC. I'll write _

_you more later, after our meeting, and tell you all about _

_it. _

_Hope the relatives aren't being too odious._

_Hugs,_

_Hermione_

Harry blinked and read the letter again, sure he hadn't read it correctly the first time.

He blinked again, and then read it again, his eyes wide and his mouth tight. When he was sure he'd got it right, he crumpled up the parchment and hurled it across the room where it smacked lightly against Hedwig's breast, prompting an indignant squawk and ruffling of feathers. She gifted him with an unfriendly snare.

"Well, I'm sorry!" Harry shouted. "I didn't mean to hit you." He flapped his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't even know why I threw it. C'mon. I'm sorry, girl. Don't be mad at me."

Hedwig ignored him.

"Fine. Be like that. I haven't heard from Ron once. Hermione is going to dinner with Snape. God only knows what else is happening and I'm stuck here. Again." Harry sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor. "Sometimes I wish I'd never found out I'm a wizard. It was less frustrating living here when I didn't know what I was missing."

He stooped to pick up the wadded up letter, read it one more time, and tossed it back on the floor. Great. Just fucking fabulous. He was stuck here, and Hermione was out... gallivanting! With Snape! No 'hello, hi, how are you'. No 'we're coming to get you tomorrow.' Just 'Snape's taking me to dinner.' Harry's head moved side-to-side and he made a simpering face, saying, "Snape's taking me to dinner," in a girlish voice. Hermione could be such a bitch. Why was it always about her, anyway? Harry kicked the end of his bed sending it thudding into the wall.

"BOY!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"STOP THAT INFERNAL NOISE! WE'RE TRYING TO WATCH THE TELLY," Uncle Vernon roared."

Harry silently mimicked him, stomped loudly across the room and shut off the overhead light.

"BOY! DON'T MAKE ME CLIMB THOSE STAIRS!"

"As if you could, you fat bastard," Harry muttered, kicking off his trainers and, otherwise fully clothed, crawling between the sheets.

He tossed and turned most of the night. Fuck Hermione! Fuck Snape! Or not. Snape was supposed to be interested in him, was he? So what was he doing with Hermione? A plot to get closer to Harry? That was just stupid. How would making Hermione his apprentice get Snape closer to Harry? Did the man think just because he and Herm were friends that he would come crawling to Snape in some form of weird gratitude? Crawling to Snape. Hnh! As if. Snape would have to come crawling to him. Not that it would do any good, because Harry had no interest in Snape. None. Zero. Zip. The man was greasy and ugly and irritable and so what if he kissed like a demon, Harry was definitely not interested.

Unable to sleep and unwilling to toss one off at the wrist, no matter that his cock had other ideas, Harry got up and sat at the folding table he used as a desk.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thanks for the letter. Things here suck, as usual. _

_Mostly I'm locked in the room, except when my _

_aunt forgets, then I can sneak out for a bit. _

_Otherwise – rampant boredom._

_Interesting news about Snape. Be careful. I think _

_he's up to something. I know you think he's _

_interested in me, but his behaviour doesn't really _

_bear that out. I mean, why would he offer __you__ an _

_apprenticeship if it's me he's after? I'm starting to _

_think Ron may be right, it's some kind of plot, _

_so watch your back._

_Have you heard from Ron? I haven't. Your letter _

_is the one and only I've received. _

_Write soon and let me know what you think Snape's _

_up to._

_Harry_

_PS. Try and see if Snape knows anything about when I'll get out of here._

_Dear Ron,_

_What are you up to, mate? Haven't had a word from _

_you and it's been two weeks! Come on! I'm dying of _

_boredom here. My aunt and uncle are keeping me _

_locked in my room. Again. Wish your dad still had _

_that flying car and you could rescue me again._

_Hermione wrote to say she has a date with Snape! _

_Well, she didn't say 'date' but he's taking her to dinner, _

_so what would __you__ call it? You were right, he's up to _

_something. Wish I knew what it was._

_How's Ginny? Have you been to the twins's shop yet? _

_How's your mum and dad? Any word from Percy, or _

_is he still being a git? Write, damn it!_

_Harry._

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I hate it here. What are you up to? Why are you _

_taking Hermione out? Are you really interested in_

_me, or is it some kind of obscure plot? I keep thinking_

_about you kissing me_

Harry crumpled up the last bit of parchment and tossed it towards the waste bin. It bounced off the edge and landed on the floor, almost lost in the rest of the rubbish. Writing Snape was a stupid idea. Maybe he should clean his room. Maybe he should give his cock the attention it had been demanding. God, he hated being sixteen!

**TBC**

Coming up next, **Chapter 13: Other Roads**

_In which our Hero, Harry, and You-Know-Who pursue that bright elusive butterfly_


	13. Other Roads, Part 1, Harry

**Chapter 13: Other Roads**  
In which our Hero and Harry pursue that bright elusive butterfly

_Perceiving the pathway to truth,  
Was struck with astonishment.  
It was thickly grown with weeds.  
"Ha," he said,  
"I see that none has passed here  
In a long time."  
Later he saw that each weed  
Was a singular knife.  
"Well," he mumbled at last,  
"Doubtless there are other roads."_  
–Stephen Crane: _The Wayfarer_

_

* * *

_**Part 1, Harry**

The grounds of Hogwarts were once again shrouded in a fog almost heavy enough to be called rain. Fat drops of water fell from every tree, splattering the ground without noise. Everything was shadowed, appearing unreal, except for the Dementors gliding silently across the great expanse of lawn, sometimes disappearing completely in the fog, but never for very long. Harry clenched his wand tightly, trying desperately to think of a way out, some way that didn't involve the use of magic, because even though he was at Hogwarts, it was still summer and he wasn't supposed to use his wand. He was frantic at the thought of expulsion, almost inevitable with Dumbledore too sick to stand up for him at the ministry.

He darted quickly from the shelter of one tree to the next, knowing that this game of hide-and-seek couldn't last very long. He was helpless to outrun the Dementors and it was certain they knew he was there. In his head he shouted_ Expecto Patronum! _over and over again but he didn't dare say it aloud. Angry at himself for his lack of a plan he strained to think of something, anything that would help.

It was too late. As he slipped out from behind his current tree he was captured by a spectral grey form. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look the disgusting creature in the face. He thought of not being able to say good-bye to Hermione and Ron. He thought of Sirius and his parents and the prophecy coming true in the most terrible way because he was too stupid to do as he'd been told. At that thought, something fierce lit up inside him. Raising his wand, knowing it was hopeless but unwilling to go down without a fight, he opened his eyes and gasped. The face leering down over his was Snape's, not a Dementor's! Snape's laughing face and in its way it was almost as scary as the Dementors.

Harry jerked, smashing his head hard against the headboard. Dreaming! He'd been dreaming. No Dementors. No Snape. Just the darkness inside his room on Privet Drive. He sat up, still shaking in the aftermath of the dream. Sweat poured down his face and trickled down his back, making his shirt cling to his skin. As he turned to look at the illuminated numbers on his clock he became aware that his shirt wasn't the only article of damp, sticky clothing. He could feel a flush burn his cheeks. He'd had a dream about Dementors and Snape and he'd come in his jeans! Fuck! Sixteen had to be the most ridiculous of all possible ages. All his previous nightmares of Voldemort had been terrifying, but at least they hadn't been embarrassing.

Realising the pointlessness of trying to get back to sleep, Harry rose and stripped off his clothes, throwing them in the general direction of the heap of dirty laundry by his closet. Naked, he walked over to his window, carefully prying out the nails holding the board his uncle had hammered up over his window. Stupid fuck. Too fat to get up a ladder, he had nailed the window shut from the inside. A couple of days of careful work and Harry had been rewarded with the wood coming away from the sill, nails straight and easy to slot quickly back in if anyone entered his room.

It was still dark outside, only the barest hint of light. Not a big surprise; Harry's clock had shown it not quite five o'clock yet. He opened the window and, nudging Hedwig gently, he said, "Fly, girl. Better go while the going is good." Hedwig gave a soft hoot, stretched her wings and sailed out the window. "Don't come back until tonight after dark," Harry called softly after her. He watched her soar away until she was nothing but a tiny white speck in the distance. "And bring me some mail," he said, although she was much too far away to hear him.

He closed the window and looked at his reflection mirrored in the dark glass, admiring the few curly hairs around his nipples, rubbing his hand across his chin to see if there was any sign of whiskers and sighed. Not yet; a bit of hair on his chest, a lot more on his groin, but no sign yet of needing to shave; something he was looking forward to. He eased the wood back over the window, working slowly to keep the nails from squealing as he pushed them home.

Turning on the light, Harry looked around his room and sighed again. It was a disaster area. Really, he should clean it up a bit. If Aunt Petunia came in and saw dirty laundry, wads of paper, books with their spines flattened, and bits of uneaten or half-eaten food strewn over every available surface, she'd have a fit. And then Dudley would have to get his digs in. And Uncle Vernon would huff and puff up the stairs and threaten to nail Harry's door closed, telling him he could pee in a bucket. He'd do it, too, the rat bastard. Harry rummaged in his trunk and was disgusted to discover he was entirely out of clean clothes. Well, how was he supposed to do wash his clothes when he was locked up? It was all his uncle's fault. Let him do the bloody wash for a change! He dug through his laundry, finding his cleanest dirty jeans and a tee shirt that didn't smell too badly. He sniffed his underarms and grimaced. He could do with a bath, but there wasn't much hope of that until everyone else was out of bed and downstairs. Harry wasn't about to wait, it would be a couple of hours yet before anyone stirred.

Tip-toeing over to his door, Harry put his hand to the knob and was relieved when the door opened; either Uncle Vernon had forgotten to slide the bolt affixed to the outside of his door, or he'd remembered to unlock it after Harry'd fallen asleep. In another month he'd be allowed to use _Alohamora_ but until then, he had to count on his uncle's forgetfulness, or lack of it.

He gathered up an armful of dirty clothes on the off chance Aunt Petunia got up early. He'd need an excuse for being out of his room, and doing his laundry was one of the few excuses she found acceptable, although she didn't really trust him with her brand-new, extremely expensive, state-of-the-art washer and dryer. Harry wasn't sure how she thought he could accidentally damage them, short of using a sledgehammer. With a little luck, she wouldn't wake up soon and he could just mix his clothes in with Dudley's and she'd wash them. He'd done it before and Aunt Petunia never seemed the wiser. Since all his clothes were Dudley's castoffs and he had such a large wardrobe, Aunt Petunia couldn't possibly remember what had been given to Harry and what Dudley still wore and while it seemed she would notice the size difference, she never seemed to – Harry figured she was still in denial about Dudley's gargantuan proportions. It would be a simple thing to rummage through Dud's clothes later and find his own, clean and folded.

Holding his breath, Harry went downstairs, still on tip-toe, careful to avoid the third step from the top which squealed like a cat being skinned. The downstairs was completely dark, no light in the kitchen, which meant Aunt Petunia was definitely not up yet. He made his way to the laundry, stuffed his clothes into the hamper standing beside them, and then hurried to the front door, soundlessly opening it and slipping outside.

He'd never considered himself a morning person, preferring, when allowed, to have a nice lie-in, but lately he'd found himself enamoured of the early dawn hours when all of Surrey seemed to be asleep and the world belonged solely to him. He walked along Privet Drive, his hand trailing along low fences, pebbled walls and immaculately trimmed shrubbery. He paused occasionally to peer at flowers illuminated by the rising sun, to listen to birds twittering in the trees, half-hoping to hear Hedwig's soft hoot. He stopped once to speak to a monstrously battle-scarred one-eyed cat which immediately flopped onto his back to have his belly rubbed. "Some warrior," Harry said with amusement as he stooped to scratch the cat's soft undercoat, "you're nothing but a big baby. I should take you to Mrs Figg, she'd fix you right up." The cat gave a short sniff and jumped back to its feet, limping off down the street favouring a crippled leg, with its tail straight up in the air. Harry wondered if Mad-eye Moody was an animagus.

He turned onto Wisteria Walk, glad that no one was awake. Anyone seeing him walking around before full light would be sure that the boy who attended St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys was up to no good. Hearing the sound of someone moving about, he quickly ducked into the alley between Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent. The alley made him a bit nervous ever since the Dementors had attacked Dudley and him but there was probably no reason to avoid it; even though he couldn't see anybody it was probable Dumbledore had people looking out for him again, maybe even that cat.

There was really no place to go except the park. The shops in Little Whinging's High street wouldn't be open yet, and, even if it hadn't been the crack of dawn, Harry had no Muggle friends to visit. The few boys he'd tried to play with before he'd gone to Hogwarts had all been scared off by Dudley. Still, it was glorious being outside rather than locked in his room. A car passed him as he turned onto Magnolia Road, a businessman on an early start for London probably. The chill morning air felt good on his face, energised him and made him feel almost clean until he pushed his hair back from his face and grimaced at the greasy feel of it. God, how did Snape stand it? Harry's head _itched_. He longed to cast a cleaning spell but really didn't want to get hauled in front of the Ministry once more and threatened with expulsion. It occurred to him again that Dumbledore was probably too ill to save his arse if the Ministry discovered him using magic.

There were a few lights on in the neighbourhood, clearly a few early risers but there was no one on the street but Harry. He turned through the gate to the park and wandered over to his favourite spot by the swings and sat on a bench. There was still a little mist lingering, which reminded Harry of his dream. Harry heaved another exaggerated sigh, the heartfelt gasping of a boy with too many burdens. Dementors, Voldemort, his imprisonment at Number 4 Privet Drive, Snape, Dumbledore's illness and the fear he wouldn't live long enough to help Harry fulfill the terms of the prophecy. He closed his eyes, the better to think.

"Hi Harry."

Harry snarled and blew his fringe up off his forehead in exasperation. He knew who it was without turning around. Piers Polkiss. Dudley's best friend and seventh on the list of people Harry hated most. Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Uncle Vernon, Dudley, Aunt Petunia. Piers came after all of them but before Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Which was a pretty good indication of what kind of wretch that made Piers. Harry turned and looked at him; the same big mouth and rat-like face, but bigger (although nowhere near Dud's size) and maybe a little less ugly than he used to be.

"What do you want, Polkiss?"

"Just saying hello. Saw you walk by from my bedroom window."

"What are you up to? Spying for _Big D_?"

"No, honestly Harry, this has nothing to do with Dudley. I just, I dunno, thought maybe you could use some company." Piers sat down on the bench, gauged the space between them and scooted over just a little.

"You're up to something," Harry said.

"I'm not up to anything. Look, I know I've helped Dudley be rotten to you–"

"You didn't just help!"

"Okay. Okay. I know _I've _ been rotten to you and I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Harry said flatly. "You are definitely up to something."

"Aw, Harry, I–" Piers moved suddenly, an awkward lunging motion that Harry was entirely unprepared for. The next thing Harry knew, Piers was mashing their mouths together and he seemed to have at least six hands. His tongue came out and tried to batter its way through Harry's lips. Stunned, Harry opened his mouth, and then he was kissing Piers back. This was nothing like the kiss from Snape, no finesse here. Harry wondered if he could change it at all, make it better, and without otherwise thinking, he was coaxing Piers's mouth open in turn, groaning softly when his cock sprang to attention. Fuck! Not now, not now, not now!

Harry pulled back abruptly, pressing a hand against Piers's chest, trying to push him away.

"This is not a good idea, Piers," he said a little breathlessly, two spots of red high on his cheekbones.

"Sure it is, Harry. It's a great idea. It feels great." Piers tone was wheedling, his rat-like face cunning as he grabbed Harry's hand, pushing it down into his own crotch. Harry jerked it away.

"No, I don't want to. I don't like it." Harry said through clenched teeth. He wished he dared use his wand.

"Yes you do. You're as hard as I am," Piers insisted, looking pointedly at Harry's lap.

"No! Back off!" Harry felt slightly hysterical.

"Why? What's the harm? There's no one here."

"Never mind. Just drop it. It's just not a good idea," Harry sighed, taking a deep breath and trying to push the other boy away again. "You should go. Or maybe I should."

"Not until you tell me why. You were enjoying that kiss. So was I." Piers was obviously getting irritated.

"I was not enjoying it!And what will you do if I don't tell you why? Run to Big D?" Harry was twice as irritated and sneering.

"Just tell me why and I'll let it go."

_ You asked for it ,_ Harry thought. "Well, it isn't very hygienic, is it? Kissing you, I mean."

Piers looked wary.

"The entire time I've known you, you've constantly been kissing Duddykins's arse. Hate to think what's on your lips and tongue."

"You're a real jerk, Potter," Piers said, standing up and walking away.

Harry looked after him in shock. Piers Polkiss, the boy who had repeatedly held Harry's arm twisted behind his back while Dudley punched him, thought _he _was a jerk. That would have been funny if it wasn't so annoying.

TBC

_Coming up next: Chapter 13.2 Other Roads, Part 2; Snape_


	14. Other Roads, Part 2, Severus

**Chapter 13: Other Roads**

**Part 2, Severus**

Wednesday came much too soon for Snape. No amount of preparation was enough for him to easily stomach the thought of meeting Hermione's parents, let alone attempting to court her. His stomach felt queasy. He stood in front of his mirror, feeling like a complete idiot and hoping that Minerva wasn't pulling some kind of prank. Regardless, it was too late to worry about it now. Promptness was important to him, no matter how onerous the task at hand, and he would need some time to get his bearings in a strange place.

With the sound of a soft crack Snape apparated into a dim alley, sending a glaring of cats scurrying in all directions. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant smell. Bins overflowing with putrid garbage crowded the alleyway behind the restaurant, no doubt the explanation for all the cats. He didn't like animals, as once embarrassingly evidenced by garnering a T for Troll on his Care of Magical Creatures OWL, the only such mark he'd ever received. He was therefore not pleased when a large scruffy tom rubbed itself purring against his leg. He kicked at it viciously and it hunkered down against a wall giving Snape a look of pathetic betrayal. Snape wasn't in the least chagrined. "Serves you right, you four-legged spawn of the devil." As he was looking smugly at the beleaguered tom, he wasn't watching where he walked and his foot came down into a tangle of squealing feline. He fell against one of the bulging bins, spilling restaurant leavings all over himself. Minerva would pay for giving him this refuse dump as an apparition point.

With a snarl, Snape cast_ Scourgify_, cleaning himself of the wilted remains of lettuce and rancid bits of meat. More carefully this time, he kicked another dozen cats out of his path as he exited the alley into the blinding sunshine of the High street. A passing woman gave him a worried look and scurried away quickly. Snape dismissed her as merely timid until the next few people he passed also gave him strange looks and quickly crossed to the other side of the street. Snape looked down at himself and then at the passing Muggles. Kilt, brogues, shirt, jacket. True, no one else was wearing a kilt, and between Minerva's sense of humour and Albus's eccentric taste in fashion it was hard to be sure, but he knew this was Mugglewear, he'd even seen a picture of the heir to the throne of Muggle England in a similar outfit. Well, Granger would tell him if there was anything amiss.

He scowled. In spite of the cleansing spell a faint odour of garbage seemed to cling to him. He cast another S_courgify _ and added a bit of scent to it. It would have to do. Tugging on the short, restrictive jacket, and smoothing down the tartan of his kilt, he garnered another odd look from a passing woman. He bared his crooked teeth at her and she scurried off as the other Muggles had done. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket he extracted a piece of paper and walked with it into the nearest shop.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?"

A portly man in a stained white apron turned to look at him, raised his eyebrows in surprise and then smiled. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Snape thrust the piece of paper at him. "I need to find this address and I'm not familiar with your town." He tried a smile of his own but as he was not feeling particularly pleasant he wasn't sure it was entirely successful.

The portly man smiled at him again. "Oh yes. Granger, the dentist couple. They're very good, both of them. They'll be able to fix those problems right up."

Snape opened his mouth to ask, "What problems?" but the grocer kept talking without even pausing for breath. "You'd hardly know they were offcomers these days, fit right in, although we did think they were a bit odd when they first moved here. Hippies. We're a quiet town, weren't used to their sort. It all turned out all right. They only looked strange. They really know what they're about when it comes to teeth." He grabbed Snape's arm in a friendly fashion and dragged him back to the doorway. "You go just past the pub, worth stopping in if you have the time, best beer in the county and tolerable grub. No? Well, perhaps some other time. As I were saying, turn the corner at the pub, just a few blocks, big house, can't miss it. Tell the Missus Bert the Butcher says hello and I have some lovely chops if she's interested."

Snape stumbled as the grocer gave him a friendly shove in the right direction. He had the feeling the man, friendly as he had been, was only too happy to see the back of him.

The house, late Victorian and made for a Victorian family, was absurdly large for three people. The small front yard was neat and yet somehow eccentric, as if vigorously tended by someone with no aesthetic sensibilities whatever. Snape was hardly surprised. Judging by its size, Teethists made good money, judging by the erratic shrubbery, their money was not spent on gardeners.

He took a deep breath, and rolled his eyes several times to get it out of his system. He sneered when he saw the ornate brass knocker. A lion's head. How utterly, utterly predictable. Raising his hand he rapped sharply. In less than an instant the door was opened by a smiling man with teeth to make Gilderoy Lockhart jealous, of middling height and with a large quantity of fuzzy hair circling a bald patch. He grabbed Snape's hand and pumped it heartily.

"You'll be Professor Snape. Welcome! Welcome! Mother and I have been looking forward to meeting you since Princess got your post." He looked Snape up and down. "Didn't know you were a Scotsman. Come in, come in. No point in lurking about the doorstep like a salesman."

The man did not let go of Snape's hand but used it to leverage him through the doorway and into a entrance hall that boasted several pieces of primitive art. "Mother! Princess! Professor Snape has arrived. Do you mind if I call you Severus? You must call me Gerald. No point in standing on formality."

"This is the residence of Hermione Granger?" With the talk of mothers and princesses, Snape was not entirely sure that he had not got the wrong house, in spite of the fact his name was known. If the man with the forceful grip was Granger's father, he was rather older than Snape expected. It might explain some of Granger's behaviours. Only children were often spoiled (although he himself had certainly not been) and when the parents were an already middle-aged couple . . .

"Yes, of course. Come into the lounge. Tea? Or something stronger? I've a lovely malt whisky I've been saving, but perhaps that's a bit coals to Newcastle, eh? We have a full complement of just about anything, well, only excluding your fancy wizarding libations."

Snape, unable to get a word in edgewise, merely nodded baring his teeth slightly.

"Can't think of what's keeping Mother and Princess. They're in the kitchen. I think Princess is explaining how some magical cooking is done. Can't think I'd really like to eat something that poured out of the end of a wand, like to have some idea of where my food _comes_ from, don't you? You know, either Mother or myself could help you with those, at a discount of course."

"Help me with what?" Snape finally got a word in.

"Your teeth."

"What about my teeth?"

"Oh! Professor Snape, you're here! I didn't hear the bell. Hermione was showing me something in the kitchen. Has Gerald offered you a drink?" A tall woman, well-dressed and with extremely large white teeth, advanced on Snape, right hand extended.

"Professor Snape!" Hermione Granger joined her parents. She goggled slightly at her professor. "What are you wearing?"

"Is there something wrong with my clothes? Minerva assured me they were actual Mugglewear."

"Well, perhaps," Hermione said, eyeing his kilt doubtfully, "but I don't know I've ever seen anyone in full Highland regalia, excepting the Prince when he's at Balmoral, and only then in photographs, of course. Because I've never been to Balmoral, or met the Prince for that matter."

"Professor McGonagall claimed they belonged to a Muggleborn student."

"Oh, that would be Dean Thomas. They were part of a costume. It was a joke."

"Albus will shortly find himself in need of a new Transfigurations teacher. I wonder if he'll find _that_ amusing?"

Hermione stretched out a hand as if to touch the hairy sporran hanging from his belt and then jerked it back, her cheeks flushed. "Well, it's all lovely but the ruffles... I don't know."

"You're trying to be polite, Miss Granger. It doesn't suit you."

"It's just . . . Well, full Highland regalia."

Mr and Mrs Granger were attending to this conversation as if they were watching a tennis match; their heads turning from Snape to Hermione and back again.

"Darling," Mrs Granger said, "you're making the professor uncomfortable. It's not nice."

"Sorry, Professor. Are you good at this sort of thing, or would you like me to do it for you?"

"Good at what, Miss Granger?"

"Transfiguring your clothes. Trousers perhaps and– oh, let me do it!"

Hermione flicked her wand and Snape found himself still in a kilt, but with boots instead of brogues, a short leather jacket instead of cloth, ruffled shirt exchanged for a black tee-shirt, and no sporran. "There, that's a bit better. You look very fashionable. Makes you look younger, too, as if you were ready to go clubbing."

Snape thought he might club her if she didn't shut up.

"Very handsome," said Mrs Granger, smiling and showing very many blinding white teeth.

"Here's your libation," Mr Granger said. "I didn't know your pleasure, so I took the liberty of pouring you a measure of Islay malt, my particular favourite, Lagavulin, but I do have a Speyside if you prefer."

Snape had no idea what he was talking about but he took the large glass handed him with desperate pleasure. He took a deep draught and smiled at his host. "Ah, excellent. Thank you."

"You know," Hermione's mother chimed in, "I could whiten those. Gratis, of course. I know those in the teaching profession are often shockingly under-compensated."

"Professor," Hermione quickly interrupted, obviously fearing a an imminent explosion, "perhaps we should go. I don't know how late the pub serves, and I'd like to get there before they run out of their rather excellent vegetarian shepherd's pie."

"Yes, of course," Snape said, hurriedly downing the rest of the much needed fortifying whisky. "Mrs Granger, Mr Granger, it was lovely meeting you. I don't expect we'll be very late. I've a meeting this evening and I mustn't be late. A very good night to you both. Come Miss Granger." He strode hastily to the front door, not even checking to see Hermione was following.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said breathlessly, once she had caught him up, "my parents are a bit obsessive about their profession. They're not usually so rude. I hope you won't hold it against them."

"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about. Now, where's this pub?"

"Very near. I expect you passed it on your way to the house, unless you apparated at our front door. It will take us about five minutes to walk, or two," she panted, "the way you're walking."

Snape slowed his pace. If he was serious about courting her, politeness would matter, damn it. "My apologies, Miss Granger. I'm little used to company, and you're even shorter than Potter, astounding as that seems. I didn't mean to rush you."

Thankfully, Hermione ignored the insult, which had slipped out unintentionally. "I'm very excited we're going to talk about the apprenticeship. I've thought of almost nothing else since your first owl. I know it's unusual to take someone on before they've finished school and I'm a bit worried how I'll manage with NEWTs this year and everything, but I–"

"Please," Snape held up his hand, palm out, "let's postpone this discussion until we're at table. I feel in need of additional fortification."

The pub, when they arrived, met with Snape's approval. It was not so very different from wizarding establishments, other than the noticeable lack of robes. Hermione led the way to the lounge. "It will be a bit rowdy in the public bar, we'd not be able to hear ourselves think, let alone each other talk."

They found themselves a table and sat. A large man Snape assumed to be the pub owner came over to take their order. "Lovely to see you Miss Granger. It's been awhile. How're your mum and dad keeping? Everything all right then? What can I get you? You're in luck if you're wanting the vegie pie, we've one slab left. You and your friend can arm wrestle over it."

"No, that's fine, no wrestling," Snape said in a rush, unclear on what Muggle custom might be being referred to but not liking the sound of it. "Steak and kidney pudding and a half of bitter." He turned to Hermione. "Whatever you like, Miss Granger. Surprisingly, Hogwarts has an expense budget."

"I'll have the pie, and a half of cider, if you please. Busy tonight, John? Or will we have the lounge to ourselves."

"Been quiet so far. I shouldn't worry. Don't want your folks to know you're stepping out with an older fella, eh?"

Hermione blushed. "Don't be silly. This is one of my professors from school. We're going to discuss um, an assistant position in chemistry. And," she added with a smile, "my parents know exactly where I am and with whom, so you needn't worry about keeping secrets."

"Interesting school if your professors wear kilts. Well, right then," he hurried on seeing Hermione's look of disapproval, "I'll send a waitress with your drinks and your grub'll be ready in a flash. Love the modern era, just stick it in the nuke and Bob's your uncle."

When the barman left an uneasy silence descended over Snape and Hermione's table. They both hurried to break it.

"So," said Snape, "what do you hear from Potter and Weasley?"

"Is it okay to talk about my apprenticeship yet?" was Hermione's contribution.

"Well," Snape began carefully, reminding himself irritably this was supposed to be a romance, not a job interview, "perhaps we could just chat a bit first, get to know each other. See if we're compatible."

"I didn't know compatibility was a requirement. I thought you'd just tell me what to do and I'd do it. I'll not cause you any trouble, if that's what you're worried about. I do realise that Ron, Harry and I haven't always, well, trusted you, I suppose. But that changed ages ago. Really, I'll behave. I do know how. Perhaps you've noticed the last year was different than the previous ones. Of course, that might have something to do with you, you've been rather . . . friendlier. Especially to Harry, but we've all noticed. I think it made quite a difference in everyone's attitude – "

Snape was no longer listening. He mused instead on the unbearableness of what he was attempting. One: the girl obviously could natter on as long as she had air in her lungs. Two: she talked too much and Snape, a taciturn man by nature, would no doubt leave too many silences she would be compelled to fill. Three: would she never shut up?

"Professor?"

"What? My apologies again, Miss Granger. I must have been woolgathering. Most unlike me. You were saying about Potter?"

Hermione looked confused and Snape cursed himself. Obviously she had not been talking about Potter.

"I asked if the apprenticeship would start with the beginning of term, or if there was still some kind of approval or something that still has to be gained."

"I thought we had agreed to just chat for a bit. We can get to the apprenticeship in a moment. So," Snape said, casting around for a topic suitable for "getting-to-know-you chat", "tell me, how did you and Potter become friends?"

"Professor, I'm sorry, but are we here to talk about Harry? Because if we are that's fine but I'd like to know."

"Of course not!" Snape was livid. "Of all the ridiculous ideas."

Hermione rolled her eyes, infuriating Snape further. "It's just you've mentioned him at least a half-dozen times and we've been here," she glanced at her Muggle wristwatch, "fifteen minutes." She looked at Snape. "Fine. Certainly. By all means, let's talk about Harry. What would you like to know?"

"I'm not interested in Potter in the least! I mean–"

"I know what you mean, Professor." The little bitch had the audacity to laugh.

"He's the only thing I know we have in common. Don't look so smug, that's not what I meant and you know it!" Snape gave Hermione a truly menacing glare.

"Whatever you say, Professor."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "Do not tempt me to rescind my offer," he said, grinding his teeth.

"You don't need to be embarrassed, Professor. We figured out _ages_ ago that you were interested in Harry. Harry didn't want to believe it at first, and Ron still refuses to believe it but deep down they both know it's true. We've talked about it." Hermione's eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth.

Snape smirked. "Yes, you finally realised you've been going a bit far, to say the least. We are here, Miss Granger, to discuss your apprenticeship." He smiled, feeling sick. "It is not Potter in whom I'm interested, it's you. And you may take that any way you like."

In Snape's opinion the evening went downhill from there. Things got slightly better when they began to actually speak of the apprenticeship, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling of impending doom.


	15. The Terrible, Horrible, No Good

**Chapter 14: The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day**  
In which our Hero has . . . difficulties.

_There were lima beans for dinner and I hate limas. There was kissing on TV and I hate kissing. My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas. When I went to bed Nick took back the pillow he said I could keep and the Mickey Mouse night light burned out and I bit my tongue. The cat wants to sleep with Anthony, not with me. It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. _  
–Judith Viorst:_ - Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day_

_

* * *

_

"ELF!"

Someone was screaming and it made Snape clutch his head in agony.

"ELF!"

Not so much a scream as a rather hoarse bellow.

"GOD DAMN IT! **ELF!**"

"You is wanting a house-elf, Professor Severus?_ (Hic!) _"

The sickly-sweet odour of butterbeer flooded Snape's painfully flared nostrils and he squinted at the elf – clad in a more than usually filthy tea-towel – as it swayed towards him.

"No yelling," Snape whispered. "I didn't call for an elf." He paused, thinking of the voice that had just been demanding elf-service at the top of its lungs. "Oh, perhaps that _was_ me. Pull the drapes. There's entirely too much light for the crack of dark."

"Professor Severus is drinking too much again, Winky is thinking. _(Hic!) _ Not that Winky is casting stones. Winky is understanding the lure of strong drink. _(Hic!)"  
_

"Are you drunk, elf?"

"Winky is not drinking, sir! Don't be mad at Winky, Professor Severus! Winky is not wanting clothes! She can't help her little problem."

"Oh, shut up. Pull the drapes. Bring me tea. Bring me _Pepper-up_ . And tell whoever woke the sun to put it back to sleep." Snape rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

"_(Hic!)"_

He woke again an hour or two later, stinking and soaked with sweat. He wiped his face with his sheet and then peeled it off of himself. One eye at half-mast peered peevishly at the window. He thought he'd told that damn elf to pull the drapes. Oh. So he had and so she had. He'd meant close them. Sod's law: no hangover, feeling as if God were in his heaven – the weather would be dark, wet and gloomy; with hangover, hammers and tongs inside his head – it was a hundred-and-fuck and muggy. This was Scotland, for fuck's sake, not the fucking West Indies. If Albus were the great fucking wizard he was supposed to be why in fucking hell couldn't he do something about the fucking weather? The old man had picked a fucked of an inconvenient time to become fatally ill.

Feeling more than a little exposed by the bright sunlight streaming into his tower room and not yet inclined to drag his carcass out of bed, Snape tugged the damp sheet back over himself. Painful memories of the previous day invaded his consciousness. Who knew that drinking half pints would be as deleterious as swimming in a vat of whisky? Of course he had lost count after his fourteenth half. Surely he had not attempted to kiss Granger goodnight? Surely she had not laughed in his face? Surely that was just a bad dream brought on by too much bitter and greasy pub food.

Ah yes. _Pepper-up_. He looked irritably around the room. It was there, on a small table, next to a cup of no longer steaming tea. Just as well. It was too blistering to be drinking hot beverages. He just might take up drinking tea with ice, and sweet, as the Americans did. Picking up the little potions vial, he walked to his mirror and winced at the face looking back at him. On a bad day his skin tones could generously be described as jaundiced, but today he looked as if someone had dyed his skin with a watery solution of . . . _Creme de menthe _. The bags under his eyes could have benefited from a luggage trolley, although the colour of his luggage of choice was certainly not puce. And his hair, admittedly usually lank and slightly oily, was plastered to his skull and appeared to have been soaked with dripping. Even his nose seemed to have changed; it was still large and hooked, but looked more prominent than usual due to the deep crevices that made large parentheses around his mouth.

Snape shivered. Twelve hundred degrees Celsius, drenched with sweat, and his entire body was trembling. He felt unaccountably cold. Perhaps he was coming down with something. He put down the _Pepper-up_ and picked up his tea. Casting _Incendio_ in the general direction of the hearth, he stood with his back to the fire, hitching his nightshirt up under his arms, warming his backside and his calves. His hands curled possessively around his cup of lukewarm tea.

"Professor Snape."

Snape looked vaguely around the room and saw nothing. He let his nightshirt fall back over his bum and returned to his tea.

"Excuse me, Professor Snape?" The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere underneath him, which was, of course, impossible. Snape did the only sensible thing and ignored it.

"Severus Snape!" The voice snapped. It sounded remarkably like Hermione Granger. A product of his guilty conscience, no doubt. Or perhaps delirium tremens. That was it. He wasn't feverish, he was merely more hungover than usual. He'd be seeing cross-dressing dancing lilac hippogryffs soon; he really had to stop drinking.

A loud whoosh now assaulted Snape's ears and he whirled around, producing a wave of nausea and almost knocking Hermione Granger back into the fireplace. Politely she said, "Excuse me," and calmly dusted ash off her robes.

Snape winced and then snarled, "It is customary to send an owl requesting a meeting or, at the very least, fire-calling before you drop into someone's private residence."

Hermione looked pointedly past Snape and he turned slightly to see an owl pecking irritably at the lap robe tossed over his couch, a cylinder of parchment tied to its leg.

"Where did that come from? He wasn't here a minute ago."

"_She_ has undoubtedly been sitting there for the better part of an hour. She's a very fast and reliable messenger."

"Don't try to change the subject, Miss Granger," Snape snapped. "How dare you invade my quarters without so much as a by-your-leave?"

"I sent an owl. I fire-called and you merely wiggled your arse at me. Thinking something was wrong I thought I'd better just pop on in." Granger's mouth twisted in disapproval. "I wouldn't think a man who is attempting to seduce a student, no, _two_ students, would be such a stickler for the other social niceties."

"If I were inclined to seduce a student, which I most certainly am not, it wouldn't pick a woolly-haired, buck-toothed–"

"Oh stop. I may not be the most attractive girl in the world but that was definitely _your_ tongue that was trying to push its way into my mouth last night." Granger sounded more amused than affronted. Chit.

"What is it you want?" Snape asked churlishly.

"I thought it might be wise, after the events of last night," Snape winced and Hermione smiled, "to find out if I was still being considered for the apprenticeship."

"You might have owled."

"I _did_ owl," Hermione reminded him.

"You might have waited for a response."

"And the owl might have starved before you noticed it."

"You're starting off your apprenticeship on very poor footing." Snape tried to look superior but it was ruined by a grimace of pain.

"Ah, that answers my question then. I am still going to be your apprentice. Excellent. I trust you won't be drinking when we're working together?"

"I trust you'll learn to keep your big mouth closed, if you can close it over those teeth!"

"Update your inventory, Professor. My teeth are perfectly normal." Granger smiled at him, revealing a mouthful of perfectly sized, perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfectly annoying teeth, "It's big of you to not make me pay endlessly for a moment's embarrassment," she said with sweet sarcasm. "I'll just toddle off then. See you in a few weeks."

She was gone before Snape realised he had missed his best opportunity to recant the apprenticeship offer. Chit.

A soft hooting reminded him of the owl's presence. Better get rid of it before it fouled the premises. He picked it up clumsily and was rewarded with a savage peck on the head. Snape growled and tossed the damn thing out the window. It immediately flew back in and thrust its leg out at him. In a fit of pique, Snape transfigured it into a small sculpture of a lilac-coloured hippogryph and sent it to float in the rafters.

"I'm never drinking again," he vowed. "Now, where's that damn _Pepper-up_?

Finding the bottle he returned to staring at himself in the mirror. Tossing back the contents, he watched the smoke pouring out of his ears. It did not dissipate as usual but coalesced in a dark cloud that hovered over his head. Snape snorted. The fine hand and maleficent sense of humour of Minerva McGonagall were manifest in that storm cloud. The miserable cow.

He tossed the bottle in the general area of anywhere and stalked into his bathroom. A cold shower might help to clear his mind, evanesce the overcast above his head – which looked as if thunder and lightning were on its agenda. The only thing missing was an unwanted erection brought about by thinking of Harry Potter and _damn it!_ He had thought of Potter and right on cue . . . A cold shower was definitely in order.

Snape gave a sharp gasp as the frigid water splashed down on him. Cursing, he grabbed a bar of soap and began lathering his hair – which was resistant. Three scrubbings later, he had the semblance of clean hair. The nice thing, the _only_ nice thing about a cold shower was not worrying about when the hot water would run out. He quickly began to wash the rest of his body and let his mind drift back to the previous evening.

In a life riddled with monumentally stupid acts – such as leaping out of the sizzling frying pan of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters and straight into the hottest portion of the fire that was Albus Dumbledore and the endless teaching of an endless progression of ninnyhammers – drinking endless half-pints of bitter and at least three g-and-t's and then capping off the evening trying to kiss Hermione Granger wasn't even in the top ten, although it was a near thing. Fortunately the Granger chit had more sense than sensibility and had laughingly escaped his embrace – before Snape could attempt the tragic error of pressing her against the door – by the simple expedient of ducking. Snape had overbalanced and landed in the erratically trimmed shrubbery, affording Granger time to disappear into her house, rather breathlessly calling, "Thank you, Professor, and good-night!" over her shoulder before Snape had time to explain that he had merely been attempting to blow away a piece of dandelion fluff clinging to her cheek, which wouldn't have explained how his tongue got in her mouth but . . .

While Snape couldn't bear the thought that she was laughing at him behind his back, there was nothing he could do about it now. He had just had the opportunity to confront the problem head on and had muffed it. He would now have the discomfort of broaching the subject again when she reported for her apprenticeship. Perhaps he could induce her to place the memory in a pensieve and then accidentally topple it to the floor. Perhaps he could simply Obliviate her, wiping the last six months completely from her mind. It would play hell with her NEWTs, but he had little doubt she'd manage to pass anyway. The chit.

Well, thinking of Granger had taken care of his lingering Potter problem. Snape looked down at his now limp cock and sneered disdainfully at it before turning off the water and grabbing a towel. It was time to get to work, lingering headache be damned. He had a new batch of Morpheus bubbling away unattended in his lab and a nagging feeling that he might have done something stupid when, more than three sheets to the wind, he had looked in on it the night before.

* * *

Snape leant over the cauldron of Morpheus and blenched. The colour was not the lovely, peaceful shade of azure blue that it should have been. Rather, it was a bilious shade of green. The reason became clear as his foot hit something. There was an explosive crash, then the sickening, sugary smell of mint boiled out from under his lab table. He looked down at the broken shards of green glass littering the stones under his feet. It was perfectly superfluous to turn a piece of glass over with his foot and read the label – _Creme de menthe_ .

He sank down to his knees, heedless of the broken bottles, and put his hands to his face. Snape was not a crying man, but at that moment he felt as if he could just weep. He was never drinking again. The Dark Lord would kill him, and if he didn't, Albus would, sick as he was. How could Snape have been so monumentally stupid?

He clamped his right hand over his left forearm as the Dark Mark seared with pain. Bollocks! His master's voice. Well, there was no time to worry what three bottles of _Creme de menthe_ would do to the Morpheus. Perhaps he would be lucky and it would turn out he had drunk more than he had added and the effect would be negligible. He had an uneasy feeling that mint and opium might not be complementary but there was no almost no literature on the effects of opiates on wizards, much less a vast herbal compendium on the subject.

Snape was no more a religious man than he was a weeper but he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and muttered, "Please."

He ladled the green stuff into bottles and carefully packed them in his case. When he was done, he knelt by the hearth and called Minerva. There was no response. Damn it! She must be with Albus and the floo in his quarters had been closed. Snape didn't dare delay any longer. He'd have to hope she find his note if he didn't return before he was missed.

* * *

The Riddle family home was little different than the last time Snape had visited. It was a bit more decrepit – more than would have occurred naturally, the Dark Lord's magic was clearly helping it along – and for a moment, Snape thought he could see storm clouds through a gaping hole in the roof, but they weren't clouds. The entire ceiling was obscured by tiny bubbles. Snape wouldn't have thought a clear bubble could appear black, but these were. Black and filled with what looked like smoke. A good sign. The Dark Lord was taking his Morpheus like a good little boy.

The master of the Death Eaters was – and there really was no other word for it –_lounging _ in his chair, head canted to one side, back slumped and legs spread wide in front of him. It was hard to tell from his position but Snape thought he might be even thinner. Not that he had been robust at any point since his return. Another good sign; he was losing his appetite as a result of Morpheus. An unpleasant surprise was Bellatrix Lestrange, on the floor by the Dark Lord's knee, her own legs curled under her. She was wearing a dress of carmine silk, which on another woman would have been lovely but only served to make Bellatrix look wan and tired. The dark lids of her eyes seemed heavier than usual and yet she still managed to look more insanely irritated than sleepy. Which was more up to Snape's expectations.

"Isn't my Bella lovely?" Voldemort was almost purring, a steady stream of black bubbles pouring out of his mouth and gathering about his head before drifting up to join the collection at the ceiling.

Snape wrenched his eyes away and hurried to answer. "She is lovely, my lord. Although, as I'm sure you'll remember, I don't incline towards witches. Certainly, if I were to want a woman, I would want one as_ heroic _ as Bellatrix." He looked at her, making sure she understood the insult.

Bellatrix glared and Voldemort chuckled, a thin and eerie sound. "You go too far, Severus Snape. My beautiful Bella is loyal to the grave, something you might do well to emulate." Bellatrix raised her chin proudly and glared at Snape. "You're lucky I'm tired and disinclined to punish you. On the contrary, I believe what I have in store for you could be considered a reward. However little you deserve it." Now Bellatrix's eyes widened in anger.

"I find, lately, that my stamina is impressive when I can be arsed to rise to the occasion. In other words, I can go all night but I seem to be losing interest in doing so. Poor Bellatrix, my lovely, luscious, languorous, loyal Bellatrix. I have not been much use to her lately and I'm sure she's hungry. I would like you to do the honours, Professor."

"My Lord!" Snape and Lestrange said at the same time, in the same appalled tone.

"Oh yes," Voldemort said, pulling a bottle of Morpheus out of his robe and pouring a healthy dose into a cracked crystal goblet. "Give me a show, my two most _faithful _ servants. You have each told me, in your different ways, there is nothing you would not do if it pleased me. Perhaps you need a little reminder of the dangers inherent in going back on your word to your lord." He didn't sound as if he cared one way or the other.

Snape was not fooled and, not knowing where Voldemort would cast, stepped in front of Bellatrix. It was not that he didn't value his own nervous system, but perhaps if he protected Bellatrix he would gain a little of her trust. Perhaps.

"_Crucio!" _ The Dark Lord managed to sound bored even when screaming.

There was a brief pause where nothing happened before Snape fell to the floor writhing and screaming. It was an excellent show, he felt sure. He stretched his neck, forcing tendons to pop out in high-relief as he strained to appear in agony. Inside he exulted. True, the spell hurt, but it was nothing compared to what he usually experienced at the Dark Lord's wand. This was more of a dull ache. It appeared the Morpheus was working as Snape had hoped.

"_Finite Incantatum!_" The Dark Lord laughed, as did Bellatrix. Snape wrapped his arms around his head to hide his scowl. He curled into a foetal position and did his best to groan convincingly.

"That was very brave of you, Severus. Leaping in front of Bella that way. Quite the little hero. Perhaps association with Potter is having an influence on you. It was also quite unnecessary. I would never hurt Bella," he paused, "unless she did something to deserve it. Now, if you're quite done defying me? Good. Stand up and strip."

Snape struggled to his feet and immediately pressed his palm against his groin. Bella did not inspire prodigious growth; if anything, Snape thought his genitals might completely retract into his body. But, when the alternative to sodomising Bella – and if he had to fuck her it would definitely be up the arse, he didn't think the Dark Lord would care – was another round of Cruciatus, it behooved him to encourage tumescence.

Bella looked up at him, her heavy-lidded eyes only accentuating the expression of deep loathing on her face as she said, "You wouldn't _dare_, Severus!" but her legs were spread, the carmine dress pooled around her hips, and it was easy to see she was wet and swollen.

"I must dare, Bellatrix," Snape said sincerely. "Would you deny our lord?" He smiled unpleasantly as Lestrange's eyes closed briefly and she shuddered.

"Get on your knees, Bella. I'd like to get this over with."

In spite of his earlier loving exclamations, the Dark Lord obviously did not care who humiliated Bellatrix, as long as she was humiliated. Snape was on safe ground talking to her this way, but if his cock didn't get fully hard soon, he was going to be in trouble. Bellatrix's skin had the bluish tinge of skimmed milk. Faint traceries of veins were visible on her breasts, although otherwise her skin seemed thick and coarse. She seemed somehow heavy, oddly fleshy. The idea of touching her made his flesh crawl.

Snape quickly shucked his robe and his pants and began to stroke himself in earnest. Bella was taking her own sweet time lowering herself to her hands and Snape decided he would take advantage of it.

"Wait. Take me in your mouth."

Bellatrix glared at him again before crawling forward and nuzzling at his thighs. She took his cock in her hand and pushed her tongue under the foreskin without peeling it back. Her tongue felt thick and hot. Snape found himself wishing he hadn't been so fastidious cleaning himself. She opened her mouth and took him in, not bothering to sheath her teeth with her lips. Snape didn't care, the irritation of it would only aid his faltering erection.

Taking one of her heavy breasts in his hand, he squeezed it hard, twisting the nipple rather viciously. When he let it drop back to her chest her white skin showed a perfect handprint in red and both her nipples had hardened considerably. In the past Snape had seen Bellatrix service her lord enough to know her pleasure was only enhanced by brutal treatment. He pushed his cock deeper into her mouth, not stopping until she gagged. A few more thrusts and her eyes were watering.

Bellatrix looked up at him and sneered. "You move like an inexperienced boy, Snape. I would have thought you'd been on the receiving end of enough cocks to know how it's done. Obviously, I was mistaken."

"You'll know you've been fucked by a grown man before I'm through, Bella. Get on all fours like the bitch you are!"

Snape almost shuddered with relief when he heard the sound of Voldemort languidly applauding. "Well done, Severus. I think you actually meant to go through with it."

"I would do anything to please you, my Lord." Snape bowed slightly from the waist.

"What would please me is more Morpheus. It does help my head and I seem to be running short. How long will it take you to brew some more?"

"If you will allow me to retrieve my bag, my Lord, I've brought some with me. I've changed the formula slightly, added er, mint to make it more palatable. I hope it meets with your approval." Snape retreated across the room without turning around, trusting neither a fractious Dark Lord nor a resentful Bellatrix enough to present his back to them. He knelt down and extracted several bottles of Morpheus from his black case. He held one up for the Dark Lord's inspection.

"Vile colour," Voldemort pouted, "I liked the blue better."

Snape filled Voldemort's goblet to the brim and waited anxiously as the Dark Lord too a lengthy draught.

"Oh, but it does taste lovely. A definite improvement, Severus. Always with my best interests at heart."

Snape almost sighed with relief. He noted with interest that the bubbles streaming from the narrow lips were now a greenish black, not unlike a swatch of ancient bombazine.

"I'm glad it meets with your approval, my lord. And now, if you'll permit me, I must leave. Dumbledore has taken a turn for the worse and the staff will be suspicious if I'm gone too long under the circumstances."

"Fine. Go. I only wanted the Morpheus, and Bella's pleasure, of course. See him out, won't you, my dear?"

Bellatrix pouted but rose to her feet and, barely allowing him time to snatch up his robes, took Snape's arm.

"What have you done to him?" Bellatrix whispered as they reached the front entryway. "What is in that foul potion he drinks? It's changed him!"

"Has it?" Snape asked as his head cleared the neck of his robes. "Should we ask our Lord if he agrees with you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus! There is only one way he can answer that."

"What's different about him?"

"As he said himself, he's more able but less interested in ... many of the things that interested him before."

Snape laughed. "He's losing his sexual appetite? Yes, I must apologise, Bella, I suspected that might be an unfortunate effect, given the ingredients of the potion but, as his headaches are apparently much improved, I think you'll just have to continue to sacrifice. Don't be forlorn, my dear," and he invested the 'my dear' with as much disdain as he could, "just think, you'll be able to whore yourself to as many as you like, for the Dark Lord's pleasure. I'd think that would appeal to you."

"I should kill you, Snape," Bellatrix hissed.

"You could try," Snape conceded, "but I don't think our lord would be well pleased."

If that thought worried her, Bellatrix showed no sign. Snatching at the sleeve of her dress, she pulled out a jewelled knife with a razor-thin blade. Snape stepped back and turned his head fast enough to avoid having his eye sliced out but not enough to avoid having his cheek slashed through. He could taste the blood welling up in his mouth.

"_Crucio!_" Bella screamed and laughed as Snape fell to the floor, writhing in agony. "Perhaps next time you'll know how to treat your betters with respect!"

She released the spell and stalked away, her peals of laughter taunting Snape as he recovered from the curse.

"Perhaps," Snape said as he shakily stood and wiped the blood away from his face, "next time I'll choke you to death with my cock."

* * *

Snape had barely staggered into the castle when he saw Minerva.

"What are you doing out?" he demanded.

"I beg your pardon?" Irritated, Minerva's rrr's could have sanded a woodpile into floorboards.

"I've seen neither hide nor hair of you for days. I thought you had immured yourself in Albus's quarters."

"And what's happened to you? You look more dreadful than usual."

"I asked you first."

McGonagall rolled her eyes at this display of childish behaviour, then widened them as Snape staggered slightly.

"You're hurt! What have you been up to this time, Severus?"

"A visit to my lord and master. His magic is weakening. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Bellatrix Lestrange."

"You didn't leave word that you'd been summoned! Severus, you _know_ we must be advised–"

"I _tried _ to firecall you. You were nowhere about."

"You didn't try hard enough. You certainly could have found me if you put an ounce of effort into it. You didn't want anyone to know."

"Minerva, please. Scold me later. Unless you want to pick me up off this floor. I need a bath and a healing potion."

"And a bit of whisky, I'll warrant. Come see me when you're done with your ablutions."

"Where will you be?"

"My quarters. Poppy came last night and gave Albus a large dose of Dreamless Sleep. Enough for two days, she said. Albus hasn't been sleeping well and apparently it's weakening him. The Dreamless Sleep is working like a charm. So, I have some time for myself. And you, of course. Go, before you collapse."

Snape staggered off to his quarters, immediately stripping off his blood and mud splattered robes and tossing them in the fireplace. He took his second shower of the day. This time, he made the water blistering hot, trying to scald the Lestrange stench from his body. When he was done and dressed in clean robes, he looked longingly at his liquor cabinet. "Not now," he scolded himself. "Time enough when you get to Minerva's rooms. _And perhaps she'll have some of that Muggle whisky, _his id supplied.

"Severus, you look even more like hell than usual. The shower didn't help. And you're bleeding again."

Snape grimaced. "Thank you again, Minerva. I can always count on you for a kind word. And you're repeating yourself."

"Perhaps you should see Poppy."

"I'll be fine," Snape snapped. "Just pour me a drink. And none of that fucking Creme-de-menthe. I need a real drink."

"Well, sit down then." She poured him a large measure of amber liquid. "You're going to need that even more in a moment. I have worrisome news."

"Fabulous. Can it wait?"

"No, it can't! You'll have to go out again as soon as you've finished your drink."

"I'm not going anywhere. I've earned my rest for the day. Hell, I've earned it for the next decade!"

"I've had an owl from Harry."

"And why should I care?"

"Read it!" Minerva angrily thrust a piece of parchment into Snape's hands.

"_Dear Professor McGonagall_," he read aloud. "Lucky you. He only ever addresses me by my surname, these days."

"Shut up and keep reading."

"One or the other. I can hardly do both."

"Read the damn letter. You needn't read it aloud. I've already read it."

"Touchy, touchy," Snape said mildly, and looked back at the letter. "_Bad things are happening. Please have someone come get me before I go spare and kill them all. Harry Potter._ Well, he has a gift for melodrama."

"You'll have to go. I can't leave Albus."

Snape had never seen anyone actually wringing their hands before.

"Oh for heaven's sake. Calm down. His aunt probably sent him to bed without dessert. I'm sure whatever problem he's having will straighten itself out."

"I don't think so. Something's definitely wrong. I owled him back for an explanation and he didn't respond. I don't know what's going on but I'm worried. I tried contacting Arabella Figg but she knows nothing. She hasn't seen Harry for days. Something's wrong with Harry. You _must _ go to him!"

"Do you know what I've had to put up with today? A hangover. A surprise visit from Hermione Granger. A nearly ruined potion. Sex with Bellatrix Lestrange." Minerva blinked. "Two rounds of _Cruciatus_ and a knife in the face. Potter can go hang himself for all I care. Fine. No. Don't say anymore." Snape drained his glass. "Chasing after Potter. The perfect end to a perfectly horrible day. If there's not something wrong with him, there will be before I'm through."


	16. Divine Comedy

**Chapter 15: Divine Comedy (or, Snape Rescues Harry from the Dursley's)**

In which our hero...is a hero, and Harry gets a lesson in zoology.

_This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom;_

_But erring by his folly had approach'd_

_So near, that little space was left to turn._

_Then, as before I told, I was despatch'd_

_To work his rescue; and no way remain'd_

_Save this which I have ta'en. I have display'd_

_Before him all the regions of the bad;_

-Dante Alighieri - _The Divine Comedy_

centeroo0oo/center

The loud screech of the nail as it pulled out of the wall made Harry grit his teeth. He tensely counted down; four, three, two, one, "BOY!" he mouthed at the exact same moment his Uncle Vernon's bellow rattled the walls. Harry's fringe fluttered as he loosed an exasperated breath. He really needed to get something to grease the works. When he'd first managed to free the board nailed over his window, it hadn't made any noise at all, but lately it seemed like things were conspiring against him.

He'd broken Aunt Petunia's Charles and Diana commemorative teapot by accidentally nudging it as he stretched for something else in a kitchen cupboard. It was irritating to be prevented from using a spell to fix it; the idea that his aunt would be terrified of ever touching it again, even though it would have been perfectly sound, had been amusing. But no. The completely unreasonable "Reasonable Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery" took care of that. With Dumbledore sick, and possibly near death, there was no one who'd be able, or willing, to take on the Ministry on Harry's behalf.

Which meant he couldn't hex Dudley when, coming back from his every-third-day bath, Harry had caught the sneaky twat rummaging through his room. Although it had been a very near thing. Uncle Vernon had stormed into Harry's room—panting and out of breath from climbing the stairs—just as Harry's wand had been jabbing threateningly into the thick flesh of Dudley's throat. The matching looks of outraged terror on father and son's faces had been hilarious, but Vernon's startling bravery as he shoved Harry violently away from his son, hadn't been. Harry's shoulder was still sore from where it had smashed against his desk on his way to the floor. That little incident had resulted in Harry being confined to his room for the duration of the summer. He was allowed out twice a day to use the loo and on his return trip he'd find food—invariably cold beans on cold, burnt toast—at the threshold to his room. Bathing privileges had been further restricted from every three days to once a week.

Three weeks. Three more weeks and Harry would be of age. Three weeks before the Restriction fell and Harry turned Dudley into...

Harry jerked his mind away from his list of grievances and plans for revenge. Enough time had passed for him to be sure Uncle Vernon wasn't going to make his ponderous way up the stairs. Harry resumed prying the plank away from the wall. As a result of the ungodly screeching of the nail, it had taken him three hours to work the board out this far. If he hadn't known it was impossible, he would have suspected Uncle Vernon of spelling the nails to make noise and warn him when Harry was trying to remove the window covering, but his uncle didn't even seem to realise what caused the grating screech; the fat idiot thought Hedwig was at fault. "Shut that foul beast up, or we'll be serving her up in place of our Christmas turkey," Vernon had said on at least a half dozen occasions. And in a 'round about way, Hedwig was responsible. If Harry hadn't have needed to let her in and out, he wouldn't have had to bother with the board. It wasn't as if _he_ ever left the house anymore.

He'd discovered he could, if he were careful, get out. If he balanced cautiously on the window ledge and maintained a death grip on the frame, he could stretch far enough to grab onto the drainpipe. With a firm one-handed grip on that, he could brace his foot on the exterior wall, pull himself over and shinny down. Shinnying back up had proved trickier, but not impossible. But now, even that bit of freedom was lost to him. Since that disgusting kiss. (And how bloody unfair was it that kissing Piers Polkiss, who was a loathsome, toadying twit, was better than kissing Cho Chang, whom he'd quite liked?) On three different occasions Harry had shinnied down the drainpipe and sneaked off to the park, and each time Polkiss had been waiting. _Lurking_. Ready to pounce the second Harry showed himself. The fourth time Harry escaped through the window, he'd gone the opposite direction and had run straight into Piers as he rounded the corner. With a few choice words that had left the other boy red-faced, Harry'd made his escape. Given a choice between confronting Voldemort and encountering Piers again...Well, seeing Polkiss that last time was enough to send Harry resentfully back up the drainpipe and to curtail any further forays.

Eating cold, congealed beans was better than dealing with Piers. Never mind that the kiss had made Harry hard, both during the actual event and several times late at night. That was just hormones and there was nothing to be done about it. On the whole, kissing Snape would be preferable. Or maybe not. Or maybe so.

Once again Harry wrenched his thoughts back to the present moment. A final jerk and the board came free. Harry anxiously peered out the window, looking for Hedwig. He hadn't seen her for three days, not since he'd sent the irate letter to Professor McGonagall. Harry winced. Sending that letter—written after choking down the umpteenth serving of beans on toast—had not been one of his better ideas. Still...nothing had come of it so maybe it didn't matter.

centeroo0oo/center

The house at number 4 Privet Drive looked exactly the same as it had the last time Snape had seen it on that cold November morning in 1981 when Harry Potter had been left on its doorstep—wrapped in the sort of swaddling that was apparently _de rigueur_ for infant saviours everywhere—by Albus Dumbledore. On that night, Snape's job had been to lurk in the bushes, standing guard during the long, dark, cold, damp hours, until someone in the household awakened, discovered the sleeping child and took it in; he hadn't been given instructions on what to do if they'd ignored the bundle, but it had worked out in the end, for some value of "worked out". Snape hadn't wanted to be there at all that night, but, newly redeemed, it had seemed politically advisable to do as instructed without complaint. It was irritating to remember how pathetically grateful he'd been to be entrusted with the task. It was even more irritating to remember how crushed he'd been when he'd discovered there had been several other watchers that night. He didn't want to be here now, either, but the passage of fifteen years found him obedient still, even if Albus wasn't the one giving the orders. It was only small satisfaction that these days he usually complained long and bitterly before conceding defeat and doing as he was told.

The wound in his cheek throbbed. Aggravated by that, as well as his short jaunt down memory lane, Snape looked around angrily. He noted, with no little displeasure, that the house was not on fire. It was not deluged by a rain of blood or a plague of locusts. Neither ghastly green-glowing Dark Mark, nor alien spaceship, hovered over the roof. The yard seemed completely clear of Dementors, inferi, and triffids. In short, as far as Snape could see, there was nothing at all wrong, barring only the too-loud blaring of the telly. The slice through Snape's cheek throbbed again, reminding him he should be home in bed; Potter was going to pay for this.

Well, the sooner he eviscerated the whinging little jackanapes, the sooner he could lock himself in his rooms with a bottle—or twelve—of medicinal brandy. Stepping up to the front door, ignoring both the ostentatious brass knocker and the bell push, Snape pounded on the wood with his fist loud enough to be heard over the enthusiastic squeals of a studio audience. When the door didn't open immediately, he began to alternate fist-thumps with kicks, grinning evilly at the enraged bellow thus provoked.

The door jerked open. Snape's eyes narrowed in complete loathing. Standing in the doorway, wearing an apron and an expression that could curdle milk, stood Petunia Dursley, nee Evans. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. She looked even more sour and pinched than he'd remembered. For the thousandth time, Snape wondered how she, this harridan, could possibly be Lily's sister. Lily had been a thoroughbred; Petunia was merely a horse's arse.

"Fish," Snape drawled, and was pleased to see the childhood taunt provoked a hot flush of anger to stain Petunia's cheeks.

"Oh my, if it isn't ugly old Snakey Snape," Petunia spat. "I see you're still dressing in your mum's cast-offs."

Snape snarled. He had forgotten that Petunia usually gave as good as she got. "And I see the years haven't been kind to you. You're looking quite haggard, Fish, although your resemblance to a donkey's hindquarters hasn't changed."

A choked splutter from an unexpected quarter drew Snape's gaze over Petunia's shoulder. Behind her stood a no-necked man whose red face, immense girth and bristling moustache put Snape in mind of a sunburnt walrus. When another round face peered out from behind the walrus, Snape muttered, "An ass marries a walrus and spawns a prize hog; surely the end times are upon us."

"GO AWAY! GET OUT! HOW DARE YOU! YOU...YOU FREAK," the walrus bellowed, turning even redder.

"Vernon! The neighbours!" Petunia hissed. Grabbing Snape by the sleeve of his robes, she dragged him inside and slammed the door.

"Snape?" Looking even smaller than usual when viewed against his enormous relatives, Potter peeked around the massive shoulder of the prize hog. "What are _you_ doing here?" the twit groaned.

An outsider would have been hard put to determine who was angrier, Snape or Vernon Dursley, as they simultaneously snarled, "Shut up, boy!"

Furious at having anything—even a (momentarily) shared loathing of the mop-headed boy— in common with Dursley, Snape abruptly shouldered Petunia aside and planted a hand in the middle of the walrus's chest. He shoved as hard as he could. "You keep your fat nose out of this! I'll take care of it," he snarled as the beefy oaf rocked back half a pace. Snape got his free hand on the collar of Potter's shirt and yanked him in front of the rest. "Where's the sodding emergency?" Hand still twisted in Potter's collar, he pulled him closer and yanked him upwards until they were very nearly nose-to-nose. "And this had better be good, you arrogant puppy!"

"You're hurt!" Potter exclaimed, nearly cross-eyed with trying to focus on Snape's cheek. "What happened?" His hand came up and Snape only barely jerked back in time to keep from being touched. He most certainly had no desire to lean into the near caress, no desire to kiss Potter for his concern, no desire to bugger the boy senseless here in the hallway in front of God and barnyard menagerie. None. Whatsoever. At all.

"Don't you dare." Snape threatened, but he relaxed his grip enough for Potter to come off tiptoe. "Now, boy, explain yourself!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't know they'd send emyou/em." Casting a glance over his shoulder, Harry urgently whispered, "Not here. Let's go outside."

"In a minute." Snape pushed Potter against the wall and barked, "Stay." When Harry lifted a hand to tug his collar straight again, Snape spied a ring of bruises circling the boy's narrow wrist. He managed another threatening glare at Potter before rounding on the Dursley family. Pulling himself up to full height, which gave him maybe a half-inch on the walrus, he demanded, "Which one of you did this?" He jerked Potter's arm forward, displaying the bruises. "Ever the loving aunt, eh, Petunia? Done your sister's lad proud?"

"I never—" Petunia protested.

"You, then," Snape sneered at the walrus. "Or was it the prize hog? You'd better hope for your sake that your porcine spawn is responsible."

Vernon Dursley's brief wrestle with his conscience was obvious, but he didn't sacrifice his son. "What if I did? You have no idea what it's like having him here! He's a freak! A no good, bloody ungrateful hooligan! He deserved that and worse! You're a freak too! You and all your kind! Get out of my house this instant! Take your little nancy boy AND LEAVE MY HOUSE!" For all his apparent rage, the walrus took care to stay out of Snape's range. As if it mattered.

Wand raised, Snape made a jabbing motion, saying, "This will teach you to keep your hands to yourself!" As one, Harry, Petunia, and the prize hog turned to look. Dursley senior squealed as he realised that his arms had been turned into flippers.

"Vernon!" Petunia exclaimed in horror at the same time that Dudley yelled, "Dad!" Potter laughed and said, "Nice one, Snape."

"Not another word out of you, boy. _ Accio_ Harry Potter's belongings!" There was a great crash as a trunk burst out of the cupboard under the stairs, and another as it hit Vernon Dursley behind the knees, sending him sprawling on the well-waxed floor. Flippers useless for hoisting himself up, he lay grunting where he fell. From upstairs came several thumps, and then Harry's Firebolt zoomed down the stairs, its brush tangling in Dudley's hair, plucking a hefty lock of it before freeing itself. Behind it came a motley assortment of books, parchment scrolls, dirty laundry, and half-eaten apples. Petunia screamed as several pairs of Harry's dirty y-fronts landed on her head. One of the apples neatly, and firmly, plugged Dudley's mouth.

Kneeling, Potter began to grab books, parchment, and laundry, shoving them haphazardly into his trunk. He looked up at Petunia who was batting and scrabbling at her head, trying to remove the dirty pants that were obviously not in the mood to be removed. "My pants?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tickling his lips as he looked at Snape.

"We'll buy you new ones," Snape snarled. He fought the urge to flinch. "_You_ can buy _yourself_ new ones." He caught Petunia's eye and smiled sardonically. "I prefer you in boxers, as you know."

Harry gaped, mouth opening and closing in shock.

"Ah, the family resemblance asserts itself. Stop gawping like a beached fish, Potter." Snape gave Petunia a sly glance, and then flicked his wand; Potter's trunk slammed shut. Another flick shrank the trunk and Potter's broom, and a third levitated them into his own pocket. He looked at the panicked Dursleys and sighed. "The flippers will be gone in thirty minutes or so. The pants will be gone as soon as they're given a good washing." He smiled again as Petunia worked out the inherent difficulties of that. "The apple, I'm afraid," he continued with a horrible smirk, "is likely a permanent fixture. Let's go, Potter." He turned with an even more dramatic than usual swirl of his cloak, and grabbed Potter by the arm, resolutely not noticing the firm muscle beneath his fingers.

"Er, bye, then," Harry said, looking at his family—such as they were. "See you next summer, yeah?" He stumbled as Snape tugged him out the door. Jerking out of Snape's grasp, he turned to his family again. "Oh wait, no I won't. I'm of age in three weeks. I never have to see you lot again. Pity that." He drew his shoulders up and straightened his spine. "You should have been nicer to me, you know? I'm disgustingly wealthy, heir to two fortunes as a matter of fact, and since I'm just a freak and a horrid little nancy boy, I probably won't ever have children. It might all have been yours one day, if you'd only been nice to me. Oh well. Sucks to be you, doesn't it?" He turned back to Snape and said calmly, "I'm ready to go now, sir."

Outside, Snape took his first really good look at the boy. Potter was much thinner and paler than he had been at end of term, and there was that disturbing ring of bruises around his wrist. Rage boiled up inside Snape's chest. "You need a haircut!" he barked.

"And you need to take more care shaving," Potter responded impudently. Once again his hand came up to touch Snape's wound.

Suddenly tired, Snape blinked, keeping his eyes closed for perhaps a second longer than necessary as he fought the urge...to hex the brat for his impertinence. It had been a very long day.

"Hi, Harry!"

Potter's hand jerked away and his face flushed. He made a shooing motion with his hand, but the rat-faced boy who had called out to him just grinned stupidly. "Whose the bloke in the dress? Is that what you like, then?" Rat-boy asked, looking Snape up and down, still grinning.

"Shut emup/em, Piers," Potter hissed, looking guiltily up at Snape.

"Who is that?" Snape demanded, his voice low and threatening.

"No one!" Potter squeaked. "One of Dud's friends."

"Can't really see myself in one," volunteered Rat-boy, "but I'll wear a dress if that's what you really want."

"_Who_ is that boy, boy?" Snape snarled. He told himself the fury welling up in his chest was only because of one more delay in an already too long day. Suspicion and jealousy had nothing to do with it.

"No one! I swe—!" Potter yelped, unable to finish his protest as Snape once again hauled him up _en pointe_.

"_Legilimens!_ Snape hissed. Potter desperately tried to Occlude, but Snape sliced through his pathetic defences as easily as a hot knife through warm butter. He continued to hold Potter on tiptoe, keeping him off balance physically and mentally as he leisurely trolled through the boy's thoughts. Snape smiled grimly, refusing to be distracted as Potter thrust forwards images of Snape kissing him, memories of a Polyjuice potion, petty cruelties at the hands of his so-called family. Admitting to himself that perhaps Potter had got marginally better at this than he'd supposed, Snape doggedly kept probing, searching for whatever it was the muttonhead was trying to hide.

Suddenly, Potter slammed the shutters on the windows to his soul, and twisted in Snape's grasp. Able to recognise victory when it damn near kneed him in the goolies, Snape redoubled his focus; he was in too far now to be thwarted simply because Potter had closed his eyes. Latching on to the tiniest wisp of a thread, Snape tugged, and there it was.

emPark bench. Rat-faced boy. Lunges and tongues and hands and lips andwetandhotandhardandpoundi ng and GOD!/em

Blood roared to Snape's head: vision obscured by a hazy red film, veins at temple and forehead bulging, muscles in his jaw twitching and tightening. Something seemed to compress his lungs, squeeze his heart, and set the contents of his stomach roiling. Rage over a thousand years' torment at the hands of its intellectual oppressor rose up and Snape's proletarian libido led the revolt against its master, his conscience, no longer giving a fiddler's fuck about impropriety. "NO!" he roared, as his fist twisted tighter in the soft cloth of Potter's collar. "You are _mine_ you insufferable nincompoop!" He wrenched the boy completely off his feet. "Mine, do you hear me, you arrogant, worthless whelp?" he whispered against Potter's lips before crushing them with his own.

From somewhere over Potter's shoulder came a nervous guffaw. From Potter himself, a noise more like _meep!_ Which left Snape humiliatingly aware that the long, needy moan could only have come from his own throat. _Never mind the collaborators! In for a knut..._the proletariat screamed. _We've nothing to lose, lads!_ Swept up in the flood tides of revolution, Snape thrust his knee between Potter's legs as his tongue battered at the gates of the boy's insolent mouth.

For one insanely glorious, desperately heated moment, Potter's thighs tightened around Snape's knee and the cheeky mouth opened in invitation. All the horrors of the day slipped away in the slow slide of Snape's leg between Potter's, and the sweet, watery taste of the boy's mouth. Snape very nearly had the sort of embarrassing moment that had marred his very first sexual encounter. He pressed in closer, not caring that he positively detested Harry Potter, not caring that they were publicly displayed, not caring that the movement of his lips made the cut on his face burn. And then Snape wanted to hex the horrible, unconscionable little _tease_ as Potter got his hands up between their chests and pushed Snape away.

"Professor!" Potter whinged, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "I have to _live_ in this neighbourhood!"

"Not any longer," Snape responded, dragging the boy back to his arms and nuzzling his hair. "You're almost of age, remember?" The madness of revolt having been tempered slightly by a welcome gasp of air into his lungs, the _almost_ made Snape grimace.

As Potter yet again struggled to free himself, Rat-boy asked, "All right there, Harry?" with something like awe in his voice.

Snape released Potter, who barely managed to keep his feet, and lunged towards Rat-boy, once more drawing himself up to full height. "And what are you going to do about it if he isn't?" Once again his wand was in his hand. "Repeat after me," Snape said, his wand now jammed against Rat-boy's temple. "I am a no-account, pimply, rat-faced boy, and although he's a vexatious little tease, Harry Potter is worth ten of me."

"I don't know whether to feel insulted or chuffed," Potter offered. Masking his grin with a snarl, Snape ignored him.

Rat-boy's lips flapped; he clapped a hand over them, trying desperately to stop the words from coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't. "I am a no-account, pimply, rat-faced boy," squeaked out from behind his fingers.

"Although he's a vexatious little tease, Harry Potter is worth ten of me," Snape prompted with a vicious jab of his wand.

When, in spite of his best efforts to suppress them, the words had squeaked out of Rat-boy's mouth, Snape flicked his wand and said, "Go home. You need a shave."

Potter convulsed with laughter as rat-like whiskers sprouted beneath Piers' nose. "What did you do to him? Not the whiskers. How did you get him to say that stuff?"

"Magic," Snape drawled. "Which reminds me..." He pointed his wand at Rat-boy's fleeing back. "Obliviate!"

"You're no better than the Weasley twins," Harry opined. "Molesting hapless students in public. Turning people into animals! That was wicked though. Do you think I could learn to do that?"

"What? Molest a student? If you put your mind to it, I suppose—" Snape grinned, but suddenly, Potter's question put paid to Snape's near giddyness. _Shit! Potter's magical ability! Albus! The transference!_ "We need to get back to Hogwarts. Now."

"Why—" Harry began.

"Because I said so, damn your impertinence!" Snape grabbed Potter's arm and pulled him close.

"Let me go!" Potter squawked, struggling to free himself. "You've got no right to be grabbing me like that, just because you're an adult! I'm of age in three weeks, so you can just bugger off until then. And _then_ you can bloody well _ask_ me!"

"Learned how to Apparate by yourself over the summer, did you? I have to be touching you, you imbecilic child!" He must be losing his touch. A kiss like that would have rendered any _normal_ hormonal teenager a limp, quivering wreck. Where in the hell had Potter got his aplomb? Still, the brat was red-faced and panting, and as Snape had Harry's wand in his own pocket, he knew that wasn't what created the slight bulge in the boy's jeans.

"There's touching and then there's touching, and _that_ was the wrong kind. Ease up. I don't have to be inside your robes for you to take me side-along." With an eel-like twist, Potter ducked out from under Snape's arm. "That's better," he said, wrapping his fingers around Snape's wrist. "_Now_ we can go. And that's not what I was asking anyway."

Snape knew with certainty that the next thing out of Potter's mouth would not be his pretty pink tongue, would not be libido enhancing, and would be completely irrelevant.

"Why'dja call her emFish/em?" Potter asked as he pointedly smoothed his rumpled collar and vainly tried to do the same with his hair.

Smirking, Snape replied, "Petunia. Tuney. Tuna. Fish. Satisfied? We'd best be off. You'll need to hold on tighter than that. Albus will never forgive me if you're splinched." Once again he drew the struggling boy into his arms. The proletariat grumbled. emThat's it, then? Revolution over? Back to jumping for your masters? You're pathetic, you are. What better chance than this, you berk?/em

"Five minutes won't make much difference," Snape said, only realising he'd spoken out loud when Potter's brow wrinkled in confusion. The masses raised clenched fists and cheered as Snape once again pressed his lips to Harry's. Taking no chances, he gripped firmly, digging his fingers into the lightly muscled shoulders.

As before, Potter struggled, then suddenly seem to capitulate all at once, melting into Snape's embrace, kissing him back for all he was worth, as with a sharp crack they Disapparated.

TBC (no, really!)


End file.
